Why has the pack forced us out? Her inner coyote whined forlornly. Do they think we are too old to hunt? Do they think we can no longer provide for the cubs?
“Now, that’s just being silly,” Martha told her animal, trying to convince herself. “Nobody’s been outcast. We’ll be heading home in a week, and everything will be back to normal.”
“Uh, ma’am?” The bartender had approached her table cautiously, as though worried she might bite. “Do you need any help down from there?”
“Nonsense, young man. I’m perfectly capable, thank you.” Martha descended from her perch with as much stately dignity as could be mustered while wearing a swimsuit and sarong. “There, see? I don’t need your help.”
His rugged, handsome face crooked in a wry grin. “I can see that, ma’am. But I do think you could use one of my margaritas, if you don’t mind me sayin’.”
“What a nice boy you are.” Martha patted his arm—goodness, it was like petting a rock—and sank down onto a deckchair. She gusted out a sigh. “Better make it two. Big ones.”
“Yes, ma’am.” With a respectful tip of his hat, the bartender went off to make the drinks.
Martha stared down at the sparkling turquoise pool, idly kicking the toes of her flip-flops together. “Relax,” she muttered. “Enjoy myself. Don’t worry about home. Right. Easy.”
It should have been easy. Shifting Sands was a beautiful place. Just off the coast of Costa Rica, the private island was like a jewel cupped in the hand of the sea. And the whole place was just for shifters. Not a single human in the entire resort, or indeed the entire island.
No need to worry about secrecy. No need to worry about protecting her family from hunters, or keeping the rambunctious pack in line. No chores to be done, no mouths to feed, no babies to soothe.
For the first time in longer than she could remember, Martha was completely free to do whatever she wanted.
If she could just work out what that was.
She signed again, tucking her cellphone back into her beach bag. She retrieved the resort pamphlet from the side pocket, flipping through it.
Shifting Sands offered a mind-boggling array of entertainments. She could go out whale-watching in the resort boat. She could learn to snorkel. She could get a massage in the spa, hike through the jungle, take a day trip to the mainland to sightsee… there was even a salsa dance tomorrow evening.
So many diversions… and no-one to share them with her.
Dropping the pamphlet, she watched the gentle sway of the palms lining the pool. Without conscious thought, she found herself rubbing the old, worn gold band of her wedding ring.
Miss you, Manuel.
Ten years of widowhood had worn the sharp stab of loss down, of course. But something about this peaceful tropical paradise made her long once again for his bright, ready smile and laughing eyes.
The warm breeze whispered over her bare arms like a lover’s caress. If Manuel had been with her now, she knew exactly what they’d be doing.
Oh, how I miss a man’s touch.
She snorted at the ridiculous thought. She was a respectable widow, and a grandma to boot. That part of her life was long gone.
Movement caught the corner of her eye. Thinking it was the bartender coming back with her drink—or drinks—she sat up, twisting around.
“Holy Mother of God!” She jumped so hard that she nearly fell off her deckchair.
It wasn’t the burly bartender. This man looked like he might have eaten the bartender for breakfast, possibly washed down with a few gallons of protein shake. He wasn’t so much built as constructed.
Her eyes tracked upward of their own accord, past hard thighs bigger than her head and eight-pack abs. He wore nothing but black swimming shorts, leaving the apparently endless expanse of his muscular chest on full display. His skin was so pale he looked like a sculpture carved from marble, marred by the faint lines of old, crisscrossed scars.
&
nbsp; Pack leader though she was, the man exuded such an aura of dominance that he had her inner coyote rolling onto its back instantly. Whoever—or whatever—he was, there was no doubting his power.
Martha’s heart thudded against her ribs. Her own alpha coyote had never once, in all her years, submitted to another shifter’s animal…
Wait.
Her coyote wasn’t rolling in submission. For all the man’s hulking physical strength and overwhelming presence, she didn’t feel the slightest bit afraid of him.