Tropical Leopard's Longing (Shifting Sands Resort Book 8) Read online

  “About the retirement home? Yes. A little.”

  “Not just the home,” Liam said. “If it were just that, I’d… I don’t know what I’d do, but I would never ask her to go through with this if that were the only consequence.”

  “She told me about the challenge. About Eugene. She doesn’t think a leopard has a chance of winning.”

  Liam looked more uncomfortable. “Eugene is a cave bear shifter, and a mean fighter. And he wants the hoard as much as he wants Darla.”

  “There’s a hoard?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Liam laughed dryly. “There’s a hoard,” he said. “Unimaginable wealth. Caverns full of gold and precious gems and lost treasures. Darla is the last of two dragon lines, and she is the heir to all of it. She has a regular inheritance, too, stocks and bonds and market things I don’t even know. But before her father died several years ago, he had a spell cast over the dragon hoard. It’s locked, except to someone of his blood, who is married according to dragon custom with a family blessing. If I had to guess, he did it to give Darla a little extra time to get out from under her mother’s thumb, since dragons traditionally marry at twenty-five years. That’s why Jubilee has been so meticulous about this wedding ceremony. Dragon contracts are tricky at best, and she wants to make sure every t is crossed and every eye is watching so Darla can unlock her hoard.”

  “Because her mother certainly seems to have Darla’s best interests at heart,” Breck said sourly.

  There was a moment of silence that Breck recognized as Liam struggling not to insult his future mother-in-law. Without meaning to, he softly asked, “Have you known Darla long?”

  “A few years,” Liam said kindly. “She answered a call for volunteers at the retirement home.” He chuckled. “When I saw her, I thought she was a spoiled dilettante who was going to run away at the first thing that smacked of hard work. I gave her the dirtiest jobs, the most stubborn old shifters, and figured she simply wouldn’t show up for the second day of work. But I was so wrong about her. She was an absolute angel for the home. She’s gentle with the patients, she’s not afraid to get dirty, she works hard, and frankly, she’s the only reason the place hasn’t already gone under. Even before the wedding arrangement and the dowry, she was paying most of the expenses. She loves them. They adore her.”

  “Raise your prices?” Breck suggested, not particularly seriously; probably Liam and Darla had already considered all the options that he could come up with. “Apply for a grant?”

  “They all pay what they can, but most of them have no family and no money. And we have a lot of… special expenses that would be hard to explain under the scrutiny of a grant. Getting old can lack dignity for simple humans, but for shifters, it can be especially tricky. Not all of them can control their shifting anymore. That’s not a problem for an ermine shifter, but a mammoth shifter can’t stay in a standard room.”

  “Do you have a mammoth shifter?” Breck asked curiously.

  Liam chuckled fondly. “Yeah. He’s about a hundred years old and no one can understand a word he says anymore, but he plays a mean game of chess and likes to watch gameshows. He wanders, if someone isn’t keeping an eye on him. We had to chase him down the freeway one night and coax him back with gingersnaps. Fortunately, he was mostly just a naked man for that romp; he was a mammoth for the night out in an empty parking structure. I still wonder if anyone watching security cameras saw any of it.”

  “I can only imagine,” Breck said, laughing. “I’d be pouring out whatever I was drinking.”

  “Or saving it for science,” Liam agreed. “I miss those guys,” he added. “I’m sure they’re in good hands for the two weeks I’m gone, but you get used to all their idiosyncrasies and special needs.”

  “Have you met Mrs. Shandy?” Breck asked impulsively.

  “Is she one of the permanent residents?” Liam asked. “The… ah… very large woman with auburn hair? I’ve seen her at the restaurant a few times.”

  “That would be Magnolia, also a peach. Mrs. Shandy doesn’t make it out of her cottage much these days. You’d probably like her, and I’m sure she’d love a game of backgammon if you’ve got the time.” Breck felt guilty for not making it by himself more often since Darla’s arrival had upended his life. “She’s a greyhound shifter, in retirement here.”

  Liam smiled. “I’d love to meet her. Darla’s the one who has a million things to do. Grooms are apparently just supposed to smile and show up at the end. The suit fits, I’ve gotten my hair cut, so they’re done with me until the vows.”

  I should detest this man, Breck reminded himself. He’s marrying our mate.

  But his leopard was oddly unconcerned with Liam. He’s not our rival.

  He’s marrying our mate, Breck repeated with emphasis. But he knew that neither one of them had any choice in the matter.

  “I should get back to work,” Breck said, standing. “Before people start showing up for dinner and Her Highness finds out that I’ve dared to show my face in public.”

  Liam grimaced. “Sorry about that, as well.” He looked conflicted, like he wanted to add something else, but chose not to at the last moment.

  “I’m not sorry,” Breck said firmly. “We should keep things as simple as possible, and it’s simpler when there’s distance.”

  As he turned to wipe down the rest of the tables and gather the last abandoned dishes, he realized that he actually liked Liam. It didn’t make anything easier; if anything, he almost wished he had someone to hate, and was disappointed that Liam hadn’t stepped into that role.

  Chapter 17

  The next morning, Darla found herself at the back kitchen door she’d fled from, listening to the pans rattle with her heart in her throat.

  It was foolish to be here. It was a bad idea. She should be trying to avoid Breck, not steal fleeting moments in his company wishing she was someone else.

  But here she was, even earlier than the morning before, her stomach a knot of tension and yearning. She pushed the door open boldly, and made herself stride in.

  And then she froze, because Breck wasn’t there.

  The mountain of a chef was already turning at her entrance, clearly expecting someone else. “You didn’t have to come in until six,” he was saying cheerfully. “But…” He stopped as he recognized Darla. “Miss Grant? Can I help you?”

  He was carrying a large tray of bread ready for the oven.

  Darla backed up a step. “I’m sorry to bother you,” she said politely. She wracked her brain for a reason to be there and stared stupidly for a moment. “Break… breakfast,” she finally remembered, stumbling over the sound of Breck’s name accidentally on her tongue. That was why she had come the previous morning. She drew herself up. “I was hoping for an early breakfast. If that’s alright. I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  “Come in, come in,” the man invited warmly. “Have a seat. I need to get these into the oven, and I’ll whip you something right up.”

  Darla thought his look was a bit knowing, a suspicion that was confirmed when she slowly perched on the stool she had used the day before. He set a plate down in front of her with a slice of cold ham and a fresh roll and asked mildly, “You were expecting someone else, I think?”

  Darla stared at her food, her stomach an unwelcoming knot.

  “You’ve got something of a pickle then?” the big man said, and he settled across from her in the place the Breck had been.

  Darla couldn’t speak, and she tried to will back the tears that pricked behind her eyes.

  “It will all feel better on a full stomach,” the chef assured her kindly.

  She didn’t want to appear ungrateful, so Darla took a bite of the warm roll and swallowed obediently.

  “See, isn’t that better already?”

  Darla didn’t trust herself to speak yet, so she nodded and took another bite. “Thank you,” she said, once she had swallowed that and her stomach didn’t seem to want to rebel.

  “Everyone calls me Chef,�
� the man said gently.

  “Thank you, Chef,” Darla said. She could look at him now, and his face was filled with kindness and sympathy.

  “Your thanks is the enjoyment of my food,” he said with a warm, knowing smile. “Now, is Breck your mate?”

  Darla had been taking a tentative nibble of the cold ham, and nearly choked.

  “Did he tell you?” she asked, once she had swallowed.

  “I put some pieces together,” Chef said smugly. “And there’s a look you’ve got. A look like you’re in a room with no door. I know that look.” His voice was gentle again.

  Darla remembered that Breck had said Chef had a mate. “Was it easy for you? With your mate, I mean?”

  Chef gave a warm, low chuckle. “It was not,” he said. “We both sacrificed a great deal to be together, and I worried for a long time that she would never forgive me for the things she gave up. But mates make it work.”

  Darla looked at him skeptically. “I’m marrying someone else. I don’t know how a magical animal instinct is going to overcome that.”

  Her snow leopard gave a wordless grumble of frustration.

  “I suppose you have considered not marrying someone else?” Chef suggested.

  “I did think of that,” Darla said dryly. “Many, many times. But… dragon honor is a complicated thing. It’s not a matter of just calling it off. For starters, if I don’t marry Liam, other people are free to challenge for my hand, and there are far worse choices out there.”

  “A certain man in your mother’s pocket who starts with E,” Chef guessed.

  Darla couldn’t quite keep herself from shuddering. “The very one,” she said. “Liam is a dragon shifter, and Eugene doesn’t dare challenge him. But Eugene is a cave bear shifter, and he’s a mean, experienced fighter. Breck wouldn’t stand a chance against him. If he got hurt…” She had to close her eyes.

  “And what does Liam say about this?” Chef probed. “Does he know?”

  “He knows,” Darla said. “He is the only person I’ve told. He says I don’t have to marry him, but he understands the complications. He also stands to lose more than I do if I don’t marry him.”

  “Money?” Chef guessed.

  Darla sighed. “He’s already spent my dowry to save the shifter rest home he runs. He doesn’t have it left to pay back if the marriage falls through. He says he could make things work, but I honestly don’t see how. All those shifters — my friends! — would be turned out on the streets to die alone and he’d be bankrupt, and it would be my fault.”

  “You couldn’t simply give him the money?” Chef suggested.

  “None of it is mine,” Darla shrugged. “I have always had everything I wanted, but if I disobey my mother, that all goes away. I am an heiress; I get nothing if she decides to disinherit me. I have some jewelry that I got as gifts, but my car isn’t in my name, I don’t pay my own rent, my credit cards would be cut off… I think I could be alright with being poor, but I don’t know if I could live knowing I chose my own happiness over the safety of other innocent people.”

  Chef’s expressive face was full of sympathy and sorrow.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but the timer went off. Darla wiped her face as he went to check the bread, and took a large gulp of orange juice. It felt like a relief to talk about things with someone, even if the problem didn’t look any less futile.

  The fragrant bread did not, apparently, meet with approval, and he put it back in the oven, setting the timer.

  “Miss Grant...” he started, when he returned.

  “Darla,” she corrected. “Please call me Darla.”

  “Darla,” he agreed. “Do you know what you’re going to do?”

  Darla looked at him with all the steadiness she could muster. Talking over her dilemma had only solidified her resolve. “I am going to get married. I am going to walk down the aisle and recite fifteen generations of ancestors and wear flowers and seventeen necklaces and say vows that will bind me to someone else forever.”

  “And your mate? Are you sorry you met him?”

  Darla’s gaze wavered. “I’m not sorry,” she said at last. “Even if I only got a glimpse of what might have been, I’m glad I got that much.” She sounded more miserable than brave to her own ears.

  It could be so much more, her snow leopard wailed.

  Chef turned away, and Darla wondered if she’d said something wrong. When he turned back, his eyes looked misty.

  “I’m not sorry you met him, either,” he said warmly. “Breck’s got a big heart, and you clearly do, too.”

  “Will you… will you tell me about him?” Darla asked hesitantly. Was it foolish, wanting to know more about someone she couldn’t have?

  Chef smiled at her. “You’ve probably… heard things,” he said knowingly.

  Darla’s blush betrayed her.

  Chef pulled out a wicked knife and began chopping a bin full of vegetables into tiny, perfect pieces as he thoughtfully spoke. “What you have to understand about Breck…. he’s not what he’d like everyone to believe. He isn’t bothered by people thinking he’s a hedonistic heartbreaker, out for his own pleasures, nothing more complicated than a shallow, self-centered playboy. But if you look a little closer, you’ll see that he’s more than the stereotype he sets himself up as being. He cares more about people than he cares about what they think. He’s not afraid to look weak to make someone else feel strong; he’ll sacrifice every shred of his own dignity to give someone else their own.”

  He shook the dirt off of a clump of carrots and cut the leafy tops off. “I’ve known a lot of people over the years who imagine themselves as heroes, for standing up to bullies or muscling their way to success. But I’m not sure any of them has ever given a fraction what Breck has given, to people he’ll never see again, in ways they usually never even recognize. He isn’t kidding when he boasts that he could have his pick of partners, but he never selects the most handsome or the richest. He always chooses the one who needs him most. And he doesn’t do it for their acknowledgement, only for their happiness.”

  “Your mother, she only sees the stereotype. Breck’s not ashamed of his sexuality, and he’s never been afraid to use sex to comfort someone or give them confidence. But don’t make the mistake of thinking he’s in it for his own pleasure first or that the jokes and flirtation are all there is.”

  “My mother doesn’t understand comfort or confidence,” Darla said quietly, absorbing Chef’s words. “Appearances have always been more important.”

  “Then you, of all people, know how much weight to give them,” Chef said wisely.

  The timer went off again, and he got up to remove the bread from the oven a final time. Darla finished her plate of food while he busied himself preparing the day’s food.

  “Thank you,” she said sincerely.

  “Thank you,” Chef said oddly. “I hope you’ll stop in tomorrow morning, as well.”

  “It’s nice to miss the breakfast bustle,” Darla agreed. “I think I will.”

  Chapter 18

  Breck was surprised that Chef trusted him with the bread again after his previous blunder, but he didn’t mind the early assignment.

  It wasn’t like he was sleeping much anyway, and it gave him the excuse not to linger in the common room with the others that evening.

  He rose well before dawn and walked in the drizzly darkness to the kitchen, trying not to think about Darla.

  He was very unsuccessful at it.

  So unsuccessful that he stopped and stared at her for several moments before he realized that it actually was Darla, standing at the back kitchen door. Her hair was getting wet and sticking to the sides of her face.

  “Chef said I should come early,” she said, when he proved incapable of speech. “I… hope I won’t bother you.”

  “Oh, it bothers me a lot,” Breck said when he could unstick his tongue at last. “But I’m really glad you did.” His sense of courtesy finally caught up with him. “You’re getting soaked! Come
inside and get dry!”

  He opened the door and ushered her inside, careful not to actually touch her. He could still feel the impression of her waist on his hand from two mornings ago when he had helped her flee from Chef’s approach.

  He had to smile, to think of Chef playing matchmaker.

  “Does it often rain here?” Darla asked as Breck found her a dry kitchen towel for her hair.

  “Usually only at night, at this time of year,” Breck said in exactly the same light, polite tone she had used. “Your wedding should have lovely weather.”

  He wondered as he spoke if it was too tender a topic, if he should avoid it — and the minefield of other subjects that would remind them of the web of promises keeping them apart.

  But Darla laughed as she toweled at her hair and perched on her stool. “The weather wouldn’t dare be less than perfect,” she said mockingly. “Cross my mother? Even nature wouldn’t do that.”

  “Ooo,” Breck said, “You’re living dangerously, challenging nature around here.”

  The earth beneath them gave a well-timed rumble, brief and minor. Silverware rattled, and the hanging pans swayed for a moment.

  Darla’s eyes got big. “Do you get earthquakes a lot here?”

  “More recently,” Breck said. “But only little ones, and Shifting Sands is well-built. Nothing to worry about, I promise.”

  She smiled trustingly at him. “I feel safe here,” she said softly. “With you…”

  “Darla…” Breck felt like a pressure was building in his chest, a pressure that had nothing to do with lust or desire, but was still an undeniable yearning. “You said that you had to get married, and I have to let you do what you have to... but… will it always be no for us? Because there could be divorce, and I would wait… years if I had to. Lifetimes.”

  Her trusting smile faded and Breck wished he hadn’t spoken because it was replaced with misery.

  “You don’t have much experience with dragon contracts, do you,” Darla said sadly.