Season of the Wolf Pt. 03

I've forgiven Angela for faking her death for twenty-four years. The woman keeps me stocked in freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. How could I not extend my forgiveness? Angela has paid her dues and works hard to earn her keep. She has proven herself not only to me but to the pack as well. She held the pack together during the long months of the war. She saved lives and risked her own by aiding the hybrids. She has committed her fair share of sins, but so has everyone else and I am not one to judge what means led to the ends.

I wish I could have managed to bring Michael back for the wedding. Keeping Michael out of the fray was the one thing Han did right. Grace hasn't seen her brother since before the war and I'm afraid she's just going to have to wait a while longer. The Montana pack isn't quite ready for a long lost family reunion yet. Michael is working on it. I don't blame the pack for not pulling up stakes and traveling so far away from their home. Nobody wants a tour of a war zone. I'm working on it on erasing our mistakes of the past. It's just going to take time.

I think it'd be nice to have Grace arrive to the wedding in a horse drawn carriage. Well, an old hay wagon is the best I could come up with. But, add enough flowers and ribbons and bows and anything will look pretty. The kids have done a nice job of painting and dressing up the old wagon. Unfortunately, trying to coax Horse into the harness is a different story. The animal is damn cantankerous when he wants to be. Apparently, he didn't get the memo that today is Grace's wedding day and his cooperation is paramount to its success.

I should have sent the bastard to the glue factory. I have never seen such a foul tempered beast in my life. Horse curls his lips and bares his teeth at me as I approach. One way or another he is getting into this harness. I'm careful of his hooves. As a wolf, part of my gift is fast healing, but I have no intention of being bruised and battered on my wedding day.

I shoo away the kids, since the only thing they're managing to accomplish is getting snapped at and making a bad situation worse. Horse isn't the kind of animal to be bribed into complacency by the promise of something sweet. He doesn't fall for the sugar cube I hold in my flattened palm and stubbornly stands his ground.

He certainly looks a lot better than he did the last time I saw him. His coat is luxurious and thick, shiny black. He has gained back the weight he lost and ripples with muscle and vitality. His hooves are trimmed, though I can't imagine who performed that miracle and lived to tell the tale. All in all, he has been well cared for and if I hazarded a guess, pampered. And that makes him all the more dangerous. Since he has been spoiled by someone's attention. He doesn't feel he has to earn his supper like the rest of us mere mortals.

Horse might allow you the honor of feeding him. But try to so much as pet him when he's not in the mood and you might draw back a bloody stump for your troubles. There's only one person who could provide the kind of care this beast from the pits of Hell has received and that's Han.

Han has been sneaking out here at night and taking care of Horse. I didn't see that one coming, but I should have. Perhaps, I should pack Horse up and ship him to Alaska with the hybrids as a going away present for Han. In the predicament they're both in. With the two of them being too damn stubborn to let anyone else take care of them. Han and this beast deserve each other.

I don't have Han's way with horses, especially not with this one. By the time I've gotten Horse harnessed and hitched to the wagon, we're both a little worse for wear. Maybe, it was the threat of gelding him that got Horse in the mood to be cooperative. Maybe, it was just that Horse has finally figured out that we're stuck with each other and there's nothing either one of us can do about it but make the best of it. Neither one of us is going anywhere anytime soon. It's going to be a very long time before Han returns. Hell, by the time Han comes back. I'll probably be fighting with Horse's great, or great-great grandson.

With the last of the preparations in order, I slip into the roughly hewn lean to the pack pieced together out of scraps to keep the feed for the livestock we have yet to buy out of the weather. It somehow seems fitting that I should be dressing for my wedding in a barn amongst the bales of hay and bags of grain.

I've never worn a kilt in my life and have not much of an idea of how to fold the pleats and secure them in place. It looked so easy on Youtube, just a fold here and a tuck there, but in reality, I don't know how my ancestors did it. I'm rolling on the ground like a bug stuck on its back and making a real mess of the neatly folded tartan. The ancestors may never forgive me for soiling the ancient plaid.

My first attempt doesn't work and the woolen kilt falls in a heap around my ankles. "Damn it," I curse and crouch down on my knees to give it another try. I don't notice till he steps out of the shadows that I'm not alone.

My God, Han looks more like his old self than he has since before the war. There's humor, actual humor, in his eyes as he crouches down beside me and helps me pleat the kilt. "Did you stop by to give me your blessing?" I grumble.

I guess there are some benefits to being old as fuck, as Han is. He probably learned how to properly don a kilt from the ancestors themselves. He folds the length of wool with dexterity and ease, avoiding my eyes. "I'm glad to see this old kilt finally put to good use," he says.

I'm literally trusting him with my life as I stretch out on the rough, faded wool and let him tuck it around me and tighten the brittle leather belt around my waist. If it weren't that hurting one another would hurt Grace, we'd probably be doing something other than having this little educational session. We'd probably beat each other to a pulp. I nod in thanks as I scrabble to my feet and the kilt stays put. The wool is heavy and awkward feeling on my hips. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of the kilt," I say. But, we both know I'm not talking about the kilt.

"I know you will, Coyote." Han steps back, inspecting the folds and adjusting this and that until the kilt meets with his approval. There's a smirk on his face that doesn't quite meet his eyes. "You do the ancestors proud."

I sigh and roll my eyes toward heaven. "Do you think they're watching us?"

"Yes. Watching and judging us worthy or unworthy."

"Which one are you, Han?"

"Which one are you, Coyote?"

That's so like Han to answer a question with a question. I've no time for lies. I have a wedding to go to. "Perhaps, both." I've answered Han with a non-answer. Whether the ancestors judge us worthy or Han and I judge each other as unworthy doesn't really matter. What matters is how a man judges himself. I don't think there's any man alive that if completely honest could say he's worthy or unworthy. All of us are a mixture of both, sometimes worthy and sometimes not.

Han snorts and nods his head at my answer. "Take care of them, Coyote."

The two of us are not the type of men to hug or engage in a lengthy goodbye. We grip one another's biceps in a moment of peace and understanding. Then, in the blink of an eye, he's gone. Just as I trusted him with my life so he trusts me with all the people who are his life.

Looking back, I don't think I fully understood that when I gave Han my word. The promise wasn't one measured in months or in years, but rather by the whole of my lifetime. I will always protect Grace and Rick, Cara and her unborn child. It will never come down to a choice between my life and theirs because I've already chosen.

I'm as ready as I'm going to be. I pace, adjusting this and that until I'm certain everything is perfect for Grace. The kilt swishes around my calves with my steps. I'm getting used to the awkwardness of wearing the weight of it around my hips and draped over my shoulder. Perhaps, all grooms are like this, nervous and uncertain, as they await their brides. I want to be better than the perfect husband for Grace. She makes me want to be the best man that I can be. I don't know if wily old Coyote can pull it out of his bag of tricks or not, but I'm sure as hell going to try.

Chapter 41

I wasn't expecting anyone to come knocking at my door so soon after Han left. He gave me plenty of things to think about. I thought I'd spend the day bonding with Rick, just the two of us together for a little mom and son time. I should have known Coyote would have other plans for the day. He has sent my mother to help me get ready for my big day.

I knew he wouldn't wait to tie the knot. Coyote might be a patient man, but when it comes to something he wants, he pulls out all the stops to get it accomplished. I should be flattered. Angela assures me that he has taken care of everything and the only thing I have to do is show up. It isn't exactly how I imagined my wedding day. The details my mother did fill me in on. But, it certainly fits the situation.

My hair is done up in a series of complicated braids. I don't wear any makeup since we're having the wedding so close to sundown. My dress is a simple off white sheath made of cotton with bits of lace at the neckline. I suppose I look as fitting as any other bride.

My mother is excited for my big day. I'm so nervous that I'm queasy in the stomach and not certain that what I have managed to eat is going to stay down. Angela tries to ply my nerves with bitter tasting tea, but I can tell she has her own suspicions as to why my stomach is acting up. I refuse to think about the possibility that it might be possible. I could be pregnant, again.

I have no idea what Coyote has planned for my wedding and I'm not shocked when a horse drawn wagon shows up at the curb to pick us up. Angela adjusts the pale deerskin robe over my shoulders and gently knots it in place. Tiny sliver bells and beads adorn the hem of the robe and jingle as I take the stairs. She has told me the story of the robe, about how it was worn by our ancestor. Rebecca Galloway wasn't so very different than me. A stranger in a strange land. Risking it all to marry for love.

I'm careful with the robe. The leather is soft and so aged that it's thin and brittle. I'm terrified that I'll damage the leather. One wrong step could ruin the whole thing. Rick is oblivious to my anxiety. He blows spit bubbles soaking the front of his baby sized tuxedo with slobber. Angela climbs up first and takes him from my arms. I manage to gently ease my way up and collapse in relief onto the hay bale turned into a seat beside her.

We're there, at the building site, in no time. There are wildflowers everywhere, music and people laughing and talking. I'm sure it's all very lovely, but my eyes are on Coyote. He is wearing a kilt. I recognize it immediately. I found it stashed in an old trunk in the attic. That kilt was my first clue to the truth of what I am. He is breathtaking and looks as if he walked out of the pages of history. There's a wicked, jovial, excited gleam in his eyes as he steps forward to help me down and escort me to the place where we'll say our vows.

It's easy to forget in the center of such joy and celebration, how much death it took to get us all to this place. We stand joined hand in hand on ground that has been soaked with blood. The stain is long gone and new shoots of grass have grown up from the ashes. In time, the pain will fade and wounds will heal. But, none of us will ever be the same. Maybe, there's a chance we're all better for it.

Coyote and I are handfast in the old way with bright cords of silk in the Galloway colors. Our vows are simple, just a declaration. Anything else we have to say is private and has already been said. Everyone is eager to skip the formality and settle down to the business of throwing one hell of a party. I'm in full agreement. We kiss sealing our fates as one and then the party begins in earnest.

I'm passed around from partner to partner, dancing. I've shed the robe and Coyote, the kilt. They'll be preserved and put away until the next person's wedding day and the wedding day after that. It's our tradition now, the blending of the old with the new. Tonight, after the moon rises we'll shed our human skins and celebrate our wilder sides with a hunt. Coyote, true to his nature keeps the whiskey flowing like water. Nobody has an empty glass and I'm a bit tipsy myself from drinking to the toasts.

I see him in the shadows beyond the ring of the bonfire's orange glow. Han watches the pack from a distance. I don't draw attention to him. This is my wedding night and I'd rather not have it end up in a bloodbath. He turns to walk away. I slip out of the crowd and follow him. Coyote sees me, but lets me go.

I watch Han as he watched me. He knows I'm there. The two of us will always sense one another's presence. He says something to Christine and waves as she pulls onto the empty highway. More cars loaded with passengers take to the road behind her until Han is the only person left behind.

He reaches in and starts the car. The engine idles, but he doesn't climb behind the wheel just yet. It's a beautiful early summer's night and the air is sweet with the scent of blossoms. The moon shines down on him, highlighting his features with slivery light. We've been here before, he and I. One watching as the other one leaves. I step out of my hiding place and stand in the road. A gentle breeze stirs the skirt of my dress and lifts tendrils of hair off my neck. It carries his scent to me, then shifts and carries my scent to him, as if either one of us could ever forget.

Han made me a promise. A man like him doesn't make promises lightly. He looks up at the starlit sky, and turns his head to view the plowed fields, rolling hills, and dense, dark woods, memorizing every detail of his home. His eyes fall to me, and I know he's seeing me, and all the things that might have been, but weren't meant to be. I don't wave or whisper a goodbye and neither does he. Han climbs into the car and closes the door. The taillights glow red and disappear in the darkness as he leaves me behind standing in a ring of moonlight.

Epilogue

Time passes quickly when you're preoccupied with the busyness of living. The pack has flourished and the war is little more than a memory now. Every year, we set aside time to remember those we lost. Not just those we laid to rest in the cemetery up on the hill, but all the others who left and have yet to return.

The pack has grown and more packs have been added to our ranks. We're a thriving community of hundreds now and gaining more and more members every year. We no longer worry about our extinction and the end of our way of life.

Coyote has done well under his term as leader. But, of course, how could Coyote do anything but succeed at anything he puts his mind to? He is the father and the husband I knew he would be. And in all the years that have come and gone since our wedding day. I've known not one seconds worth of disappointment. It doesn't seem possible, but I think I love him more now than I did on the day we married.

We've added to our own little pack. Rick has two half-brothers and three-half sisters and that's not counting Cara's daughter, Janice. Coyote always wanted a house filled with family and kids, and well, he's got it in abundance.

Despite our numbers, we've never lived apart. The house has been expanded at least a dozen times to accommodate the growing pack and another expansion is in the works. Everything from the paint color on the walls to what crops to plant next spring goes up to vote. I'm not particularly fond of blue or soybeans, for that matter, but I was overruled.

I've never lied to Rick about his father. I've told him everything as I've seen fit. Some of Han's stories aren't mine to tell and Rick should hear them from him. The two of them will have plenty to talk about when Han finally does return. They're so much alike and yet, so different. Rick has Han's serious nature, but it's tempered by Coyote's playful influence. Rick resembles his father both in face and stature. Now that he has grown up and on the verge of manhood himself, their similarities are even clearer to me.

I've not given up on Hanson Galloway. I know someday he's going to return home. I've moved on with my life and I've made a pretty good one with Coyote and the pack. But, there's still that small part of myself. The girl I once was, perhaps, that still loves Han with all her heart. And she has spent the last nineteen years waiting for him to return home.

I hope he's happy, wherever he is. I hope his life is full and complete. But, most important of all, I hope he's found love.

Today has started out just like any other ordinary day. There are people to feed, chores to get done, and plenty of kids running loose to chase after. I'm bouncing a little redheaded girl on my hip and corralling my youngest, a rambunctious five year old who is the spitting image of his father in every way and therefore, bound to get into more than his fair share of trouble, into the tub when someone knocks on the door.

"Rick! Get the door!" I shout. I've got Josiah cornered in the bathroom and I'm not about to let him slip out of my grasp by answering the door. Of course, Rick has better things to do than to listen to his mother and ignores the knocking. Rolling my eyes in annoyance at my oldest and navigating my youngest by the back of the shirt while still juggling the little girl on my hip, I give up on the bath and answer the door.

We don't get much company. I shouldn't have been surprised by who was standing on my doorstep. But, I am. I set the little girl down and she scurries off. Josiah ducks behind my hip and stares wide eyed at the stranger that looks so much like his older brother. "Mama, who's that?" he asks.

With a playful swat on the butt, I send Josiah off to play. He wastes no time scrambling past the stranger standing in the doorway and bolts for the yard. I step aside, slack jawed, open mouthed, and utterly speechless, staring at the man I knew I'd see again someday.

There are strands of silvery blond at his temples and laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. It's been nineteen years, and for all its changes. His face is exactly how I remember it. His eyes are still that indescribable shade of blue I loved as much as I once loved the man who views the world through them. I see that same shade of blue every time I look into my son's eyes, so much like his fathers. "Han," I finally manage to say. "You've come home."