Blackstone Ranger Scrooge - Alicia Montgomery Page 0,8

get dressed.” Bending down, she picked up her discarded trousers. He couldn’t help but watch her shapely backside and her skin that seemed to glow in the moonlight.

“I did notice it was empty and dark in the building.” He glanced around and found his own khaki uniform pants and hopped into them. “Damon usually works until seven. I was hoping to catch him before he left, but that’s when I ran into you.” What was she doing in here? She wasn’t a ranger or employee; he certainly would have recognized her weeks ago if that was the case.

“Well, yeah,” she chuckled. “It’s Thanksgiving.”

“Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah. You know. Turkey. Stuffing. Football and—oh!” Realization dawned on her face. “Of course you wouldn’t know. You’re not American.”

“I know about Thanksgiving,” he countered. Still, that was today? “But it’s only Wednesday.”

“Yeah, but today is the Blackstone Rangers Thanksgiving party.” She dashed toward the door and grabbed something from the floor—her hat and jumper he’d discarded earlier. “You’re a ranger, right?” Shaking it off, she slipped the top over, then her head popped out from the neck. He noticed tattoos down her left arm, but before he could make out what they were, she had tucked it under the sleeve. “Didn’t anyone invite you?” Combing her hair with her fingers, she pushed her blonde curls under the hat.

He picked up his shirt from the floor and slipped it on. “I’m … not sure.”

Technically he was part of the Blackstone Rangers, and he did his shifts and duties as required. However, he preferred to keep to himself and didn’t socialize with any of the other rangers or employees because he couldn’t afford to be distracted. After all, he didn’t move to a different continent to make friends. As one of the largest, privately-owned preserves in the United States, the ecology in the Blackstone Mountains was lush and nearly pristine. No one had yet done any research in the area. This was a chance afforded to no one else, and he couldn’t get distracted. Especially not with such a limited timetable.

“Hello? Cam?” She waved a hand at him.

“Yes. Damon did mention something the other day, if I recall correctly.” Initially, Cam didn’t think Damon would be interested in his scientific work, but he was taken by surprise. Damon sought him out every now and then and liked to hear his findings, and once in a while even asked his opinions about how they could improve with their operations and conservation efforts. That had earned Damon his respect and admiration. “However, I didn’t realize that was this week.” He finished buttoning up his uniform shirt and took his glasses out of the front shirt pocket.

She raised a brow. “Do you even need those? I mean, I’m digging the sexy professor look, but you’re a shifter, right? A … bear?”

“I don’t,” he said. Shifters had enhanced senses after all, but he’d had them for a long time now. Keep those on, Cameron, his father had instructed when he dropped him off at boarding school. They make you look more human and normal. Swallowing the unexpected lump in his throat, he added, “And, yes. Polar bear, actually.”

“You’re shitting me!” she exclaimed excitedly. “Like for real?”

“Of course, why would I lie?”

Her hands clapped together. “Polar—oh my God, you really are my mate.” She hugged him and squeezed tight. “I can’t believe … oh the guys will never—” Her arms dropped to her sides, and she stepped back. “Wait—we are mates, right?”

“Yes.” His bear did not like the way she shrank back apprehensively. And neither did he. What could she be thinking?

“And that means … you and I …” She gestured between them. “I mean, are you going to … we should …”

“We should what?” he asked, exasperated. “Spit it out, will you?”

Her hands curled at her sides. “You’re not going to fight it, are you?”

“Why the bloody hell would I do that?” His bear, too, roared in defiance.

Her jaw dropped, then her shoulders relaxed. “Oh. Thank God. I thought you were having some kind of post-nut clarity, and you realized you didn’t want this.”

“Post-nut … what do you mean?”

“I’ve seen this dance before. My friends, well most of them anyway, they had their reasons for not wanting to be with their mates and made up all kinds of excuses when it’s obvious to everyone they’re right for each other.”

“That seems illogical.” This was biology they were talking about. If something—whether pheromones or chemistry or shifter physiology—had deemed them compatible, then why should they