Page 113 of Found Objects

The men from the Haviland Pack caught outside the shelter were charged with brandishing or exhibiting a weapon, as no shots were ever fired and they were there, but not pointing the guns at the shelter. It turned out that by the time Matthias had texted the order to kill, the men were already incapacitated by Crystal and Opal. I didn’t know what jail time there would be, or fines, I simply knew they would not be back. If nothing else, Rafe Haviland had no intention of ever returning to Coille. They had been happy to be free of Matthias and Tuss, and a large amount of money, payments that had been made to the Haviland Pack from Abel, was sent to Cole in a cashier’s check that would help with the years of funds that Abel had siphoned from his own pack. It was yet another blessing that Cole was responsible for. Everyone was pleased, and the feeling of community grew with every passing day. Amazing what happened when a pack was led by a true alpha.

The bones of Anson Swann were reinterred where he’d been laid to rest years earlier, and he was once again placed beside his beloved wife. I flew to New York with Cole and Evan to visit after it was done, and put flowers on both graves.

Reggie and Helene were married before Christmas, and it was a beautiful outdoor wedding, with snowflakes falling all around that looked like a postcard. As Cole’s beta, he and his mate lived on the top floor of the log cabin, and by all accounts, he was excellent with both adults and kids. He was in charge of get-togethers, runs—there was no hunting—and scheduling visits to meet Cole. Many packs had contacted him, wanting to discuss alliances with his alpha and his pack, and he’d set meeting dates for the spring. Reggie wasn’t having anyone annoying the hibernating animals or accidentally skiing down a ravine. If people were looking for a vacation, there were resorts they could go to. The Swann Pack land was not a holiday destination, and Reggie was firm on that.

Cole and his crew were in the process of adding to the women’s shelter, building a dojo where a new transplant, Ms. Kimura, and her son, Kenji, would be teaching karate, aikido, and judo. She was very pleased to work for me after seeing the report on the news in November about the facility. We were also breaking ground on a community recreation center in the spring for children, teens, and adults. I was in the process of hiring staff, but had pawned it off on Paris, who was better at asking questions about schedules and setting up drug screening. I did walk in and meet everyone, as I could tell immediately if they were lying about anything. Had to be a good fit to be around children. I never took any chances with that.

I was surprised when right before closing on a cold, snowy night in late January, Cole came sauntering in.

“Uh, no,” I told him. “Sir, we’re closing in two minutes.”

He took a seat at the counter. “I want one of those big Belgian waffles with strawberries and whipped cream.”

“Sir––”

“And hot chocolate.”

“Sir, strawberries are out of season.”

“No, listen,” he said as I locked the doors and flipped off the exterior lights. “There’s a guy who works here, he’s got it kinda bad for me, and he keeps strawberries in the walk-in freezer in case I come in. You just need to go in there and find them and nuke them for me.”

“Absolutely not.” I pointed at the door.

“I can’t get out that way, the door’s locked.”

“Then I’ll open it for you.”

“No, come on,” he whined. “I had a crappy day, only to come home and find out my new hellhound ate two pairs of my shoes.”

“Sir, my understanding was that your new puppy was a husky, not a hellhound.”

“He was standing over the remains of a pair of dress shoes, and my running shoes—which cost more than the wingtips, I might add—and howling.”

“I’ll bet he was very cute.”

“Satan is not cute.”

“I thought his name was Scout?”

“No, no, I’m sure it’s Satan.”

“I’m certain you can procure new shoes, sir, and perhaps this is a sign that they belong in a closet and not on the floor.”

“What? You’re saying this is my fault?”

I shrugged.

“No. This is his fault. He’s a demon, I tell you, who needs to be brushed a lot.”

“I can assure you that the person he sleeps with every night, does brush him. But there does need to be daily vacuuming, which there is a chore chart for.”

“Some people in the house don’t do chores, other than drying dishes.”

“Well, you knew that when you moved in, as I understand it.”

He groaned, loudly.

“It’s time for you to leave now, sir.”