Waiting for Wolves: BBW MMF Werewolf Shapeshifter Menage Romance (Shifter Grove Brides Book 5)
Authors: Anya Nowlan
W
AITING FOR
W
OLVES
S
HIFTER
G
ROVE
B
RIDES
B
OOK 5
BY
A
NYA
N
OWLAN
A LITTLE TASTE…
They practically ran down the road toward the little house. Claire wasn’t entirely sure what had come over her, but she knew that she should act now or forever regret it. Her body was on fire and she needed them both.
All the good girl thoughts and decisions she had made during her life seemed like so much wasted time now. Her hand was in Argo’s as they rushed into the house, her heart pounding out of her chest.
This is crazy. What you’re doing is crazy.
And it was. She knew it. She’d answered a mail-order bride ad (what was this, the 1800s?!), she’d driven all the way from Georgia to Idaho, and she’d spent two damn days with these two hunky men and now she was ready and willing to fall into bed with them?!
Crazy.
And she totally loved it.
Argo slammed through the door and dropped the picnic basket haphazardly on the way. They found Cooper in the living room, spending a lazy afternoon in front of the couch.
“What the h—” the dark-haired wolf started, but his questions were quickly shushed by Argo going to him, pulling him on his feet and kissing him long and hard.
Copyright © 2015 Anya Nowlan
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Waiting for Wolves
Shifter Grove Brides
Book 5
All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be used, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use. This book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of
Anya Nowlan
. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.
Cover ©
Jack of Covers
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
GLADIATOR BEAR’S BATTLE EXCERPT
CHAPTER ONE
Claire
“Well I don’t know who thought this looked fine, but I tell you, Lisa, this is the biggest gardening failure I ever done see. Amanda must be rolling in her grave,” Courtney Wilcox announced loudly, glancing around herself discreetly in hopes of seeing who might have heard her.
Claire sighed under her breath, keeping her head down and her gaze squarely away from the purple parrot of a woman. The elderly lady was dressed in so much silk and satin that Claire was half-expecting her to melt into a colorful puddle in the scorching Georgia heat, complete with the large feathery plume that sat on top of her hat.
Missus Wilcox and her confidant, someone equally as obnoxious whose name Claire tried not to remember, floated on down the street. Claire sighed in relief, smiling mildly to one of the next judges coming by her garden.
Why on Earth did I agree to do this? Mama, if this was your idea of some huge cosmic joke, I don’t appreciate it,
she thought through her waxy smile, trying to keep up appearances.
It was the fifty-fifth annual Greenville Home Garden Extravaganza, recently renamed, and Claire Delane was one of its many hopeful contestants. Well, at least she was a contestant. She had abandoned hope long ago as far as the whole general societal acceptance thing went.
“Would you like some lemonade, Missus Adley?” Claire asked, pouring a glass on the little stand she kept by her front gate as people pressed by.
“No thank you, Claire. But that is awfully sweet of you. Your mama always used to make lemonade for our gatherings too,” Missus Adley said, nodding shortly.
Claire inclined her head and put the glass down on the stand. She didn’t need to be reminded of the many things her beloved mother had done. She was not only loved by Claire, but by most of the small Georgia town. She had passed some months ago and no one took it as hard as Claire did.
“It’s her recipe,” Claire said, taking a sip from her own glass.
It tasted like ashes going down her throat, though. Not because of what was in the glass, but how Claire herself was feeling. Oldest of five children, she was one of three still in Greenville. For most of her life, she’d picked up one off-kilter hobby after the next, while also succeeding in not marrying and not settling down. At the age of thirty-two, she was damn near a relic and a source of endless gossip for the dignified Southern ladies of Greenville.
She’d never minded. Not really, anyway. Having decided early on not to compromise on love, Claire had gone through life with her head held high and secure in the knowledge that one day, she would find the love and the family she was looking for. Until then, she was perfectly happy with staying by her mother’s side, helping her as much as she could and enjoying small-town life.
Only, without her mother, it became abundantly clear that what she had previously mistaken as harmless gossip was actually thinly-masked disdain. No, the inhabitants of Greenville didn’t hate her. Far from that. But apparently sometime after her twenty-seventh birthday, most of the town had given up on her
really
fitting in and now with the respected Missus Delane dead and buried, there seemed to be no cause to hide it from Claire.
Claire was deep in her own personal misery, tainted by the absolutely impossible summer heat that Georgia was so good at, when her reverie was rudely broken. Someone tugged at the corner of her skirt. Looking down, Claire could breathe a sigh of relief.
“Hey, Andy,” Claire beamed, brushing her hand through the short dark hair of the little boy clinging to the fabric. “Would you like some lemonade? Where’s your mama?”
The boy nodded and pointed behind him with equal vigor, drawing a giggle out of Claire. By the time Claire had given Andy a glass of cold lemonade, ice chunks bobbing up and down in the yellowy liquid, Clarissa Beaumont, Claire’s near-perfect sister, shuffled to her side. She was holding another child, a curly-haired little angel that looked just like Claire’s and Clarissa’s mother had in pictures from her childhood.
“So you actually went through with it,” Clarissa said, shaking her head in amazement at the display behind them. “You know they’ll demolish you, right?”
With a shrug and a barely-contained roll of her eyes, Claire motioned to the steady stream of people heading past the garden.
“I think it’s fifty-fifty so far.”
“What the hell did you put in that lemonade that’s got you so drunk so early in the morning?” Clarissa teased.
Claire turned around and looked at her garden. Their big southern mansion had a long expanse of grass lining the lawn, dotted with carefully planned and executed flowerbeds and borders. But what once had been roses and the occasional lily was now a colorful display of all sorts of flowers and scents, creating vibrant pockets amidst the otherwise so dutifully boring gardens all around Claire’s house. She couldn’t help but smile a little at it. It made Claire think of her mother and how she had urged her to tackle the project and make the garden really look like what Claire had imagined, instead of what everyone always expected—big ol’ roses and tasteful drudgery.
“I think it looks nice.”
“I think so too, but none of the judges will agree,” Clarissa said, bouncing her baby girl up and down on her hip.
Sweat was dripping down the side of Claire’s face, and Clarissa was fanning herself with her free hand. Georgia was at its finest and most humid today and Claire knew that they were about five minutes away from feeling like they were drowning in their clothes. One look around at the mixed expressions of the inhabitants of Greenville made Claire want to be anywhere else but here.
“How about we head inside and forget all about this silly contest, hmm? I can promise to
actually
put something in the lemonade, then,” Claire said, looping her arm around Clarissa’s and leading her in through the white, freshly painted gate.
“I thought you’d never ask!”
They walked down the expertly-laid stone path that led up to the house, old and statuesque. The porch creaked a little as they walked up the two steps to the front door. She’d been meaning to fix it, but the little moans and groans of the house were so much a part of the flavor of her home that Claire had found herself hesitating whether or not she
really
wanted to do it.
When they pushed through the door and the comforting coolness of the air conditioning washed over Claire, she couldn’t help but sigh. The screen door fell shut behind them and the sisters headed into the big kitchen, Andy already running in front of them toward the backyard.
“Go play with your brother, Maisey,” Clarissa said, putting down the blonde-haired girl.
She tottered after Andy and both Claire and Clarissa smiled at the sight.
“Those kids of yours are adorable,” Claire said with a wistful smile, picking two glasses out of the cupboard and then going for the whiskey and lemonade.
“I know, right?” Clarissa said with a chuckle, plopping down at the kitchen table. “So, tell me. What the hell is going on with you? The Claire I know would have never agreed to be judged and criticized by the old hags of Greenville.”
Claire made a face, handing the cup over to Clarissa and taking a seat across from her. She brushed a lock of her auburn hair out of her face and slumped down, resting her chin on her palm. Why
was
she doing it?
“Well, I figured what with having no kids and no man, I might as well shock and appall the local peacocks some more with my progressively horrific gardening,” Claire said, sticking her tongue out.
“Please. These biddies only understand roses, and those roses better be pink. You know that.”
“I do,” Claire said noncommittally, taking a sip of her drink.
“So?” Clarissa pressed, her beautiful brown eyes boring right into Claire’s soul.
“I promised Mama.”
“Ah. What did you promise, exactly?” Clarissa asked, some of her joy dimming a tiny bit.
“That I’d try to be happy and I’d try new things.”
“New things like the Greenville Home Garden Extravaganza? Wilcox and Adley will demolish you for getting rid of Mama’s rose garden, you know.”