A Shifter for Christmas Read online

  A SHIFTER FOR CHRISTMAS

  (SHIFTER FOR THE HOLIDAYS, BOOK 1)

  By T. S. JOYCE

  A Shifter for Christmas

  Copyright © 2020 by T. S. Joyce

  Copyright © 2020, T. S. Joyce

  First electronic publication: December 2020

  T. S. Joyce

  www.tsjoyce.com

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Editor: Corinne DeMaagd

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Up Next from this Author

  Newsletter Sign-Up

  More Series by this Author

  For More from this Author

  About this Author

  Chapter One

  “This girl is crazy,” Burke muttered.

  Kieran Dunne ignored his brother as he stared at the total amount at the bottom of the property tax bill. $7,458.21. Due by January 15th, which was exactly four weeks from now.

  “Did you hear me?” Burke asked. “I said this girl is crazy. Let me read you this ad.”

  “Man, my mind isn’t on some girl,” Kieran huffed with a sigh. He tossed the bill on the table and linked his hands behind his head, stared out the window of his too-big, too-expensive house at the snowy, pine-tree-studded front yard. “I’ve saved up three grand, but that was stretching myself thin for the last six months. I’m so short this year.”

  “You’re short every year, and you know what? It’s your own damn fault.”

  Kieran frowned. “What?”

  “Mom and Dad would hate that you do this to yourself. They didn’t leave you the house to drown in debt. You were supposed to sell it, dumbass.” Burke crossed his ankle over his knee and leaned back in the creaking antique chair their mother had bought from some estate sale when they were kids. His eyes were lightened to an amber color right now, but Kieran didn’t have a guess why. His brother’s inner animal was unpredictable at best. “They gave me the hunting cabin, and what’s the first thing I did with it?”

  “You sold it like an unfeeling asshole,” Kieran growled.

  “No, I sold it like they told me to do. That’s all they had to give us. Property. But you kept this giant house and paid these huge bills for the last five years. I’ve watched you stress every time the property tax bill is due, and for what?”

  Burke didn’t understand sentiments. And if Kieran tried to explain to him that this felt like the last piece he had of their parents, he would just rib him about being a softy, so what was the point?

  At Kieran’s dead-eyed look, his brother said, “That’s what I thought.” He leaned forward over the local newspaper again. “Shifter for hire for the holidays,” he read out loud. “A boyfriend for the holidays, no romance involved, no predator shifters. I want to survive this Christmas and you MFers are scary.”

  Kieran snorted a laugh and coughed to cover it up.

  Burke’s bright eyes met his before he told him, “There’s more.” He cleared his throat and took on a storyteller’s tone. “My family means well, but they are full of Judgey Judy’s, and this little Christmas delinquent has been ruining the holidays with her single-ness for far too long. Not this year. This year, I’m bringing a badass bunny shifter (or whatever non-terrifying type you are) to all holiday parties, dinners, and events. Why? Because none of my sisters have shifter husbands, so I will win who-has-the-best-partner contest they play every year. You must own a suit or be willing to shop for one. My family is fancy. They will also judge you if you don’t know what fork to use out of their nine-hundred eating utensils they will set out beside every plate. Must be willing to study forks. I want the whole experience this year. If you aren’t into holiday traditions and adventures, this isn’t the ad for you.”

  “Geez, how long is this ad?” Kieran asked.

  Burke flipped the paper toward him. “Rich girl paid for half of page three.” He turned it back to himself and continued, “I guess what I’m saying is, I need a shifter to be nice to me for the holidays. I want to figure out why everyone goes to mush around this time of year, and I want to stop hating the holidays quite so much. This is me trying to fix my holiday spirit. Pay is 2000 dollars at the conclusion of Christmas Day, and then you will never have to see me or speak to me again. Nice boys only.”

  Burke stood and slapped the newspaper on the counter next to Kieran, then jammed his finger at the phone number printed in bold typewriter print at the end of the ad. “Call her.”

  Kieran snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t think this is my calling.”

  Burke cocked his dark eyebrow.

  Kieran’s sigh tapered into a growl, which highlighted problem one. “I’m a shifter, but not a harmless one. There are rules for you and me. You know that. Predator shifters can’t date humans. Any human mate chosen must be Turned so they aren’t hurt.” This rule had been recited to them since they were cubs. Humans got hurt and killed too easily.

  Burke shrugged up his shoulder. “So lie about what you are. You aren’t trying to date this human. Just get her through the holidays. It’s money.”

  Kieran narrowed his eyes. “I have a full-time job and don’t have time to babysit some crazy girl through the holidays. I don’t like the holidays—”

  “But you don’t dislike the holidays either,” Burke pointed out.

  “Nice boys only,” Kieran growled.

  “You could pretend not to be an asshole for a week.”

  “I’m not studying some damn fork etiquette and, besides, that’s not a solution. I’m still short on the property taxes, even with my paycheck, my savings, and her payment.”

  Burke gripped the counter and dragged his bright eyes to the window over the kitchen sink. “You need to do something different with your time, man.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “When’s the last time you went out? Had some fun? Did anything but work and take care of this place?”

  Kieran wanted to pop back with a list of fun he’d had, but Burke was right. Not that he would ever admit that out loud. Burke’s ego didn’t need any help.

  Burke pulled an envelope out of his back pocket and slapped it onto the counter.

  “What’s that?” Kieran asked.

  “Two thousand bucks to help—”

  “I’m not taking your money, man—”

  “It’s not charity. It’s me helping to pay for Mom and D
ad’s place. Don’t think I don’t know why you kept the house. You only get this if you call that girl.”

  “Nice,” Kieran muttered. “Of course, it comes with strings.”

  “Go be nice to a girl and her fancy family for a holiday season. Pay another year of taxes. She can help you stay in the rut you’re in,” he quipped and then made his way to the door. “And next year we can do this all over again. You can obsess over keeping the giant house you don’t need and I can spend three months listening to you come up with plans on how to pay the bill. Repeat for the rest of our lives.” He grabbed his winter jacket off the coat hooks by the front door and left, slamming the door behind him like he always did because his brother was too fuckin’ rough.

  So was Kieran.

  I want to survive this Christmas and you MFers are scary.

  Ha. That was funny, but also? She was right. Shifters paired up with shifters because humans were too fragile.

  Way too fragile.

  He stared at the number at the bottom of the ad. Had she purposefully made the last four digits 6969? If she had to hire a boyfriend, there was a reason she couldn’t find one on her own. It was okay if she was homely or weird, though. It was just one week. And she’d said no romance in the ad, so no pressure on him.

  One week of pretending to be harmless and nice.

  How hard could it be?

  Chapter Two

  Leslie Wilson was going to call the phone company and change her number if these stupid calls didn’t stop. And no, she didn’t mean the plethora of shifters who were flooding her phone. She was talking about her dadgummed family calling to ask about the boyfriend she’d lied about having.

  What is he like?

  What does he do for a living?

  Will he be able to provide for your extravagant lifestyle? That one was a sarcastic remark from her least favorite cousin, Brenda, who always judged the way Leslie lived as a single woman in her very own tiny home on the back of the property where she worked.

  In her defense, her snooty family could all bite her ass.

  What does he look like?

  Will he be bringing a gift for the gift exchange?

  Is he coming to dinner tonight?

  What’s his name so we can tell the calligrapher what to write on his place card?

  What does he look like?

  Uuuuh, she would let everyone know as soon as she figured that out.

  So far, her options were Christopher O’Reilly, the rat shifter, who she’d hated since he’d made fun of her curly hair in middle school, Neville Henderson, the skunk shifter, who would have to fly here from Arizona, and Laken Waller, a friend from high school, who just wanted beer money and was human but willing to pretend he was a shifter.

  She’d jotted down all the pros and cons of each on a piece of computer paper, but was no closer to an answer than she had been last night.

  With a frustrated sigh, Lesli cupped her warm mug of coffee tighter in her hands and leaned back on the tiny bench seat under the tiny window that lit her tiny house.

  Grumpy, she leaned over and scarfed a bite of the honey-covered oatmeal she’d made for breakfast. It had grown cold while she’d answered all those dumb calls and texts.

  A knock sounded at the door, and she jumped and yelped, flipping the bowl next to her onto the floor and upside down.

  “Motherfreaker!” Honey was so sticky to clean up.

  “Mom,” she called out. “If that’s you, it’s too early in the morning to deal with your insults, and you definitely won’t like what I’m wearing!” She threw open the door, clad in her pink tie-dyed leggings, bright purple T-shirt that was two sizes too big, her curly hair pulled into a rat’s nest on top of her head, and a frown.

  A hot blond man with light brown eyes stood there looking like a GQ model against the snowy backdrop behind him.

  “Aaah!” she yelled and slammed the door and stared at the woodgrain in it. Okay genius, he’s still there. Just because you shut the door so you can’t see him, doesn’t mean he stopped existing. “What do you want?” she asked, trying to pat her hair into some kind of order. Nope, didn’t work. Her hair did what it wanted.

  “Uuuuh, I’m here about the ad in the newspaper.”

  “I’m in my pajamas! Uuuh, give me a second.”

  “Nope,” he said, pushing the door open and barging in. “I have to be at work in fifteen minutes.”

  “Oh, God,” she murmured as he ducked under the door and stood to his full height. He filled the entire damn living room. And from this angle, he was even hotter. High cheek bones, blond hair gelled to the side in a perfect, sexy mess, and a sprinkle of blond beard on his chiseled jaw. He wore a white thermal long sleeve shirt under his opened winter coat, and she could see his titties. Not his titties. His pecs. Yes. Boys had pecs. Very yummy pecs. She wanted to sleep between the line of them, which was exposed by the top three open buttons of his thermal. Hello.

  “You good?” he asked in that growly timbre.

  “Hhhhot.” Oh, wonderful, there she was, her normal, charming, disastrous self.

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “Hmm.”

  “Oh, God, you’ll fit right in.”

  “What?”

  “With my family. They make that same sound all the time. Hmm. You even nailed the judgementalness.”

  “Judgementalness is not a word.”

  “Ha! That’s good, too. They will love you.” She, on the other hand, was already slightly annoyed. “Are you sure your last name isn’t Wilson?”

  He choked and coughed on a coffee he’d been sipping. “Wilson? Your last name is Wilson?”

  “Yes. Is that going to be a problem?”

  There was a moment where he just stood there frozen, his eyes full of “aw, hell no.” Which she was used to. And now would come the rejection.

  “It’s okay,” she murmured. “You’re off the hook. You can go back to your life now. I have lots of other options.”

  He made a soft sound in his throat, and his eyes got a little bit brighter at the edges. Oh, geez, he was getting even hotter. Mayday!

  “I brought this for you,” he said, handing her the other coffee in his hand.

  “What is it?” she asked, sniffing the steam that wafted from the little mouth-hole of the disposable cup.

  “I told them to make the most festive coffee they could imagine. It’s some peppermint mocha shit with red and green sprinkles and a squirt of holiday cheer. Pretty sure the barista just made the last part up. It smells disgusting.”

  She slurped a sip and nearly gagged. “Tastes delicious, thank you,” she choked out.

  He had been looking down his nose at her, waiting for her reaction, but whatever he saw on her scrunched-up face made him smile for just a moment. And, oh Lord, he was getting even hotter. Danger.

  “Interview time! How did you find my address?” she asked.

  “Googled the phone number.” He shoved his free hand deep in his pocket and looked around her little house. “I’ve never been in one of these before. It’s homey.”

  “It cost a stupid amount of money because I apparently had to have wood floors, stainless steel appliances, and bedding from fancy stores. My fancy taste is the last remnants of the Wilson blood in me. Everything else, I’ve squashed.”

  He sat down in the chair across from the bench seat. His knees were almost up to his chest and he had to slouch so his head wouldn’t hit the top of a storage cupboard above him. Ha.

  “You look like a giant in here.”

  He checked his cell phone and shoved it back into his jacket pocket. “You have three minutes to ask me questions before I have to leave for work.”

  “You must work close.”

  A few seconds ticked by. “Is that a question?”

  “Oooooh, you’re good at conversations,” she said sarcastically as she pulled a pencil and notepad out of a drawer.

  “Yes,” he growled, “I work close.”

  “Great,” she said brightly. “What
kind of shifter are you?”

  “Otter.”

  “Fantastic,” she said, licking the tip of her pencil primly like she’d seen fancy people do on television. Tasted bad so she flicked out her tongue a few times and made spitting sounds, then jotted down notes under the other three candidates. “And what is your name?”

  “Kieran.”

  “Sexy name,” she complimented him.

  “Thank you?” Whoo, he was frowny.

  “And where are you from?”

  “Florence, Montana.”

  “Really? That’s just half an hour away.”

  “Born and raised there, and I’ve worked outside of Missoula since I was eighteen.”

  “And you are now…how many years old?” she asked, her pencil poised.

  “How old are you?” he countered.

  “That would be a touché if I cared about aging and wanted to lie about it. I’m thirty four years young and enjoying every year of life that ages my face.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “Thirty-eight.”

  “What?” Lies. “You look twenty-five. Where are your eye wrinkles?” She leaned forward and studied his face. “Where are your smile lines?”

  “I don’t smile.”

  She scribbled a big check mark. “Fantastic, another thing you have in common with my family.”

  “Why do you hate your family so much?” he asked.

  The question caught her off guard. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you talked about them in the ad, and now you’ve talked about them in this interview. It’s clear you don’t like them, so go. This is your shot. Tell a stranger what the real problem is with your family.”

  She sat there shocked for a few moments before she could force the words out. “I don’t fit in.”

  His eyes softened and his eyebrows relaxed, and he lowered his gaze to the oatmeal still sitting in splatters on the floor. “Put together a list of the shit you want me to do with you, and I’ll pick it up after work.”

  “But…I haven’t hired you yet.”

  “I saw your list of ‘other options,’” he said, twitching his chin to the paper she was writing on. “I’m your best bet.” He stood and ducked his way out of her house.