“Ginger brought it there yesterday to be cleaned. She dropped it off at 5 p.m. She came in this morning wanting to show it to a friend of hers, and when Hamilton went to the back of the store to get it, it was gone. It had been put in a safe. The safe had been cracked, the door was gaping open.” Loch’s brow creased in a scowl. “Unfortunately, we’ve got hundreds of people from out of town already flocking here for the wedding, which means a huge pool of suspects. People working on the Beaudreau mansion, guests, family, friends…and the Sinclairs, of course.”
Speaking of out-of-towners…Tate glanced wistfully in the direction that the bobcat whose name might or might not have been Katherine had driven. She’d almost certainly lied to him when he’d asked her name—but why?
Tate’s younger brother, Kyle, walked up and handed a soda to Tate. “Well, slap my ass and call me Sally. You were actually flirting with that bobcat, weren’t you?” Kyle said, with a big grin spread across his face.
Tate popped the top off and took a long swallow, ignoring the question. “Don’t you have a wife around here you should be keeping an eye on?”
“She’s ferrying our younger siblings around somewhere. If anything, she should be keeping an eye on me.” Kyle winked at a middle-aged housewife as she walked by, and she simpered and giggled. Kyle was an incorrigible flirt, but he would never actually cheat on his wife. “So, about this cute little bobcat…”
As if on cue, a van pulled up and a door opened, and a teenaged girl and a half-dozen wolf-shifter cubs spilled out and ran over to Tate, clinging to his legs, flinging themselves against him, hollering for his attention. They were his youngest brothers and sisters, and they were the reason he hadn’t been on a date in years. After the devastating loss of his parents four years ago, his whole world had narrowed and his focus had sharpened to a fine laser point. Family was everything. There was no room and no time for anything else.
And besides, as he’d found out the hard way, no sane woman would want anything to do with Tate Calloway once she realized that he came as a package deal. Him and six younger siblings. Loud, noisy, demanding, younger siblings. Also included in the package was his eighteen-year-old sister Megan, moody and riding a tsunami of hormones, flitting between their house and the local community college and driving all the local boys crazy with her newly blossomed figure.
“Hey, jerk,” Megan said, trotting after the swarm of siblings.
“Hey, nuisance.” Tate gave her the critical once-over. “That’s an awful lot of makeup you’re wearing, and isn’t that neckline a little low?”
“I refuse to be oppressed by the Man,” Megan said, hands on her hips. “Especially when that man is you.”
“What a pity that I’m also the man who pays the bills, who is the Alpha of your pack, and who has been smitten with the mighty curse of being responsible for your welfare. When we get to the job site, you will change your shirt.”
Megan’s voice rose several octaves. “Why? There’s nothing wrong with—”
A man strode by, looked her up and down, and let out an appreciative whistle. Tate swung around, and his face went hairy, fangs descending as he let out a snarl. His face extended fully, snout shooting out, ears pointy and tufted with bristling gray fur. The man went pale and scurried off into the crowd, hanging his head in submission. He was a coyote shifter, by the scent of him; he wouldn’t stand a chance against a wolf.
Tate turned back to Megan, who was rolling her eyes in disgust. “I am a wolf, Tate. I am fully capable of defending myself. By the way, can I borrow your Bible? The one that you had autographed by Moses?”
“Har har, I get it. I’m old. Hey! That’s my soda!” he yelled as his ten-year-old sister, Schuyler, grabbed his cola and ran off.
“Where’s my soda? I want a soda,” eight-year-old Ashley pouted.
“So-da! So-da!” the six-year-old twins, Robin and Richard, started chanting, joined in by four-year-old Felix.
Tate shot Kyle a glance that was both amused and resigned. “You were asking about a woman?” he said, and then glanced at the rowdy group of children jostling for his attention. “As if.”
He’d accepted long ago that caring for his family meant that he had no shot at romance—especially with a woman as lush, as ripe, as beautiful as the mysterious bobcat who didn’t want to tell him her real name.
He swept Felix and Robin up into his arms, and Richard somehow scrambled straight up his back and wrapped his arms around Tate’s neck. “That’s okay, I don’t need to breathe or anything,” Tate said. The child ignored him.
“Schuyler says she’s prettier than me. Who’s prettier?” nine-year-old Valerie demanded. “And don’t say we’re equally pretty. You have to pick.”
Right. Like that would happen. “Lying is a sin, so I can only tell the truth. You’re both equally pretty.” Neither Valerie nor Schuyler looked happy with that answer. Valerie stuck her tongue out at Schuyler.