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  The human pursed his lips against a smile and turned, grabbed a set of keys off a hook labeled Lodge 10.

  “How many cabins do you have here?” she asked curiously as she leaned her forearms against the tall check-in counter. She almost couldn’t see over it. Being short was the pits sometimes. She probably looked like a nine-year-old begging treats at the candy store counter.

  She was utterly Ava, and he was a total babe. They were not in the same league.

  “You are in Lodge 10 of 10. I’m putting you the farthest away from the house and the closest to the woods.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t mean to infuse the disappointed tone into the word, but it slipped out.

  “If you haven’t Changed in a while, I want you to have privacy and space,” he explained in a murmur.

  “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

  He shrugged up a shoulder and twitched his head toward the other room. “And I’m protecting you from Gran. She’s not a huge fan of…”

  “My kind,” she finished for him.

  Lifting his chin, he gave her a cocky boy grin and said, “Not everyone is as openminded as me.”

  “Oh, geez,” she muttered.

  He was chuckling, and she liked the sound of it. His voice had a deep tenor that she could just listen to like rain on a tin roof. Not that she would tell him that. Because he was a human. He didn’t fit with her. Couldn’t fit. He typed a few more things onto the computer and frowned thoughtfully at the screen. “Hell, yeah,” he murmured. “I mean, heck yeah. We got a few more reservations for the UnValentine’s Day celebration. Just while I was out there with you. They’re coming in tomorrow. Two singles, and a trio of ladies it looks like. I should probably plan the celebration then.”

  “Wait, you don’t have it planned?”

  Brock locked his arms against the counter and glanced at the doorway to what looked like a dining room. “I have an admission.”

  “I’m ready. Admit away.”

  “I feel like I can tell you my secrets because I know your secret.”

  “What I am isn’t really a secret, but okay.”

  “Besides the point. I drank too much with one of my old high school friends last night, and my dumb ass decided this UnValentine’s Day party was a great idea for marketing.”

  Ava’s laugh echoed through the room. “Are you serious? I came all the way from Texas for a party that’s not even planned?”

  “Yeah, well, I’ll get it together. I just have to figure out what to do for it.”

  “Oh, I’m good at this. Ready?”

  He angled his face to the side and narrowed his eyes. “I think I’m ready. Don’t let it be weird stuff.”

  “Sacrifice on the full moon tomorrow night. We all drink a cup of each other’s blood—” When his face went pale as a sheet, she exclaimed, “I’m kidding!”

  He clutched his chest dramatically, pulling the sweater material away from his solid chest as he huffed a breath of relief.

  She cracked up and shook her head. “S’mores in that firepit outside. Beer like the advertisement said. Wine probably for the trio of ladies, but I’m only guessing what they like. No flowers, cards, or chocolates anywhere in the vicinity. No pinks, reds, or whites. No romantic candles or rose petals. Replace that stuff with drinking games. Do you have any excursions available around here?”

  “Snowmobiling, skiing a few towns over…” He pulled up a few pamphlets from under the counter. “Horseback riding, ice skating…”

  The ice-skating pamphlet had a picture of a couple holding hands. “Not that one.” She slid it to the side of the others—the beginnings of a trash pile.

  He nodded. “Very wise. No hand-holding, ugh. Hand-holding is the worst.”

  “Yep, anything that makes you think ‘yuck’ is a no-go until February fifteenth.”

  “Okay, I’m listening. What do you think we should do for meals on the actual day?”

  “I meeeean, I’m not watching my figure this week. Who is going to appreciate me fitting into my threadbare yoga pants just right?” she asked.

  “Riiiight. So, something with gravy then.”

  Snickering, she nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Okay, I’ve got this.” He stood there grinning at her, locking her in his bright blue gaze for a few seconds more, and then he broke the connection and made his way around the counter. Grabbing her suitcase, he enlightened her, “You can get to your cabin through here.” When he hefted her suitcase, she hid her smile.

  “What?” he asked.

  With a shrug, she walked beside him and enlightened him that, “I could carry that much easier than you.”

  “Yeah? Miss buff bodybuilder shifter, can you? Well, maybe I need the workout. Or maybe I’m much stronger than you realize and this weighs nothing to me. Less than air. It feels like a marshmallow.” His stomach growled, and he patted it with his free hand. It made a solid sound against his abs. “I need to put marshmallows on the list. S’mores sound so good now. So, if you’re strong, you must be a bear shifter.”

  “Nope.”

  “Rhino,” he guessed as he held the back door open for her and let her pass.

  “There’s no such thing as that kind of shifter.”

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  “What fun is there in that?” she said, stepping down a narrow set of stairs to a walkway that was aimed at a row of small log cabins out behind the check-in office.

  “It’s that one.” Brock pointed to the farthest cabin, and she led the way. “You know, I could just look it up on your shifter registration,” he said from behind her.

  “You could, but that wouldn’t be any fun either. Keep guessing, human.”

  “And if I get it right?”

  She turned and grinned. “Then I’ll get you an UnValentine’s Day present. It will be horrifically unromantic. Think whoopie cushions and gift cards to a sock store.”

  His grin was one of those breathtaking ones that probably had lifted a whole lot of blushes on a whole lot of girls’ cheeks. Ava’s included. She rested her fingertips against her burning face and gave him her back as she made her way toward Lodge 10. He was the cutest bellboy ever.

  “How many guesses do I get?” he asked.

  “Three.”

  “Hmmmm. Wolf?”

  “Nope.” But she was flattered he thought she had the build of a wolf. Those and bears were super strong.

  “Uuuuuh. A big cat shifter?”

  “Cheater. That’s like guessing lions and tigers and snow leopards and cheetahs.” She gave him a sassy look over her shoulder. “But also nope. One last guess.”

  She turned at the door of her cabin because he’d grown quiet. His dark eyebrows were drawn down in concentration. “Are you a gorilla shifter?”

  She canted her head and searched his solemn blue eyes. Was that hope swimming there? Hope that he won this game and she would have to get him a present? A part of her wished he had guessed correctly, but that was impossible. No one ever guessed her animal. Almost none of them existed anymore.

  “Wrong,” she murmured.

  “Okay, I lose. But we never talked about what happens if I didn’t guess. What do you get?”

  “Hmmmm,” she said, wracking her brain.

  “Wait. No.” When he set her suitcase beside her, his face came within inches of hers. He straightened back up slowly, and his Adam’s apple dipped low in his throat as he searched her face. “I’ll surprise you.” After a moment of silence, he said, “Dinner will be served at six. My Gran is one helluva cook. It was nice to meet you, Miss Dennis.”

  “Same, Mr.…Brock.”

  He chuckled that warm sound again and turned to leave.

  “Wait! I have a tip!”

  “A life tip?” he asked, turning.

  “No! I mean a tip-tip.”

  “For what?” he asked. He looked so striking here in the snow, long legs locked, hands clasped behind his back, sweater clinging to his fit physique just right, rustic cabin
background behind him.

  “Well, I owe you a tip for bringing my suitcase all the way to my room. Err…my cabin. My mom taught me manners. You always tip the bellboy.”

  His slow grin held a hint of wickedness. “Save your money, Mystery Shifter. I’m not a bellboy.”

  He turned and walked away, and she called after him, “Then what are you?”

  “I’m the owner of this inn.”

  Chapter Four

  Brock shouldn’t do this.

  He really shouldn’t.

  Staring at the computer, he contemplated typing in the search for the shifter registration site.

  She’d wanted him to guess what kind of animal was hidden inside of her, but his curiosity about the mystery girl in Lodge 10 had consumed him for the last four hours. What was she doing right now? Showering? Laying on the queen-size bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to music? Thinking of him?

  Her eyes were so pretty, and not just because of the striking colors. She was an animated woman who talked with her eyes. They danced when she looked at him, and how long had it been since he’d noticed that about a woman? And those rosy cheeks. Her short hair. It was the perfect haircut on her, accentuating her high cheekbones. Piercings were sexy. He was a clean-cut guy, no tattoos or anything, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like them on Ava. It hinted at a rebellious side he wanted to know more about.

  She was very confident, but not cocky, and that was a fine line. The sexiest thing about a woman wasn’t her tit size or perfect makeup. It wasn’t how she fit into a certain size of dress. It was confidence. She’d been easy to talk to and joke with. It was an instant thing, that connection.

  But…

  She was from Texas, and long distance didn’t work. More importantly, she was a shifter. A shifter. That was like dating a different species as far as popular opinion went. Shifters dated shifters, and humans dated humans.

  But…it had been a long time since this old rickety heart of his had perked up around a woman. And a pounding heartbeat after feeling nothing for so long was something to pay attention to.

  Okay, if she was dangerous, he would make a deal with himself. Dangerous shifter, and he would avoid her like the plague while she stayed here because he wasn’t trying to tear up his life and give Gran a heart attack. There. Now he had an excuse to type in the shifter registration website. And her name.

  If she was a dangerous shifter, he would force himself to leave her alone.

  Ava Dennis, Nine-Banded Armadillo Shifter.

  Shit.

  Chewing the side of his lip, Brock pulled the rolling chair closer and settled in for a little research. He clicked her name and read about her.

  Age thirty-three, unmated, daughter of Barry and Laura Dennis, both Nine-banded armadillo shifters. Rare shifter. Only nine registered in existence. Graphic Designer working for Ava’s Design Studio. No arrests. Non-destructive nature. On time with registration fees…

  What the hell? She had to pay fees to register as a shifter? That didn’t seem right. Honestly, he didn’t really agree they should have to register in the first place. This site was exposing too much about a private kind of person. She hadn’t even wanted to admit she was a shifter on the check-in information, but right here, anyone could type in her name and find out all about her. It even listed her current address and phone number.

  “Oh, my God,” he murmured, leaning back in the chair and staring at the screen in disgust.

  Guilt scratched at him, creating a prickling sensation in his chest. He checked the clock. It was 5:45 pm, and the smell of pot roast and seasoned potatoes and carrots filled the entire lodge. He checked to make sure her rental minivan was out front, hopeful she would show up for dinner. There it was, still leaned up against the broken sign. He didn’t know why, but it made him smile. She hadn’t even moved the car and tried to hide that she hit it. She was owning it.

  Brock had plans so he couldn’t stay for dinner, but perhaps he could see her for a little while before he had to leave.

  Roberto was rinsing glasses behind the small bar area in the dining room when Brock poked his head in.

  “You off work, boss?” Roberto asked.

  “Yeah, I’m gonna get dressed real fast and be right back. Can I ask you a favor?”

  “Anything,” he said, drying off a wine glass with a dry rag.

  “There’s a girl. I mean a woman. Her name is Ava. She’ll hopefully be dining here. Can you make sure she gets taken care of?”

  Roberto’s smile was way too knowing, and much too annoying. “I always take care of our guests, boss.”

  “Well…just…take extra care of her. Anything she wants. And put it on my tab, not hers.”

  “Ooooookaaaay,” he sang, grinning even bigger.

  “Shut it,” Brock called over his shoulder as he left.

  “Your gran will be happy!” Roberto called.

  “Happy about what?” came Gran’s voice from the kitchen, amid the clang of banging pots.

  “Nothing,” Brock called and headed up the stairs to his apartment over the office. Gran lived in Lodge 1, her choice. But the entire second story of the main lodge was Brock’s private living space. It made it easier to cater to the guests’ needs if he lived on-site. And he loved it here. It had been home for five years and would hopefully be home for another twenty. He just had to keep the lodges filled and get out of this dip in room bookings.

  Gran had owned a bed and breakfast when he was a kid, and he’d spent almost every weekend there with her. Because of her, he’d learned how to manage a place like this. And when Gran went to sell her bed and breakfast, he’d tracked down this place—a rundown lodge with some rickety cabins, and he’d dumped his life savings into rehabbing the entire property. It was a complete labor of love.

  He should be getting dressed, but he pulled his phone out of his back pocket and sat on the edge of his bed. His research wasn’t over, but this time, he wouldn’t invade her privacy. He would learn about her animal side. And as he read facts about Nine-banded armadillos, an idea came to him.

  He didn’t know how he was going to accomplish it at the tail end of a Colorado winter, but he had an idea for a present for her. An unromantic one. One that would mind the UnValentine’s Day rules, but one that would hopefully bring that pretty smile back to her lips.

  The thought thawed out his frozen heart just a little more.

  He could be a reason she smiled.

  Perhaps he hadn’t lost the shifter-naming challenge after all.

  Chapter Five

  Kathy’s love-infested smoochy-mush heart-riddled Valentine’s Day cards were finally done!

  Ava hit send on the final files to the printer and, with a sigh of relief, laid back on the bed of Lodge 10, where she’d been working. That was the last job she had sitting in the queue for the next couple of days. Vacation officially started now.

  The alarm on her phone went off, and she gasped. Crap! It was ten minutes until dinner at the main building of the Woodpecker Inn, and she’d meant to get cute beforehand. Instead, she was in gray sweatpants she’d spilled a half-melted Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup on the thigh and stained an hour ago. Her bra-less look wasn’t going to work either.

  She hopped up onto the bed, then jumped off, doing a horrid toe-touch she’d learned in cheerleading camp circa sixth grade, barely stuck the landing, and turned off the gas fireplace. Then she rushed to the bathroom to put some oomf behind her makeup and smoke up her eyes, then hairspray some volume into her short hair. Five minutes later, and she was yanking on her favorite ripped black jeggings, snow boots, a purple sweater that hung off one shoulder and some dangly earrings with little black sparkly beads on the ends.

  She checked herself in the mirror by the door on her way out and froze. Her eyes were green. Why? She wasn’t scared or startled.

  Just…excited a little.

  But why?

  Brock.

  The wind sucked out of her sail, she dug her sunglasses out of her pu
rse and slipped them over her face, a mask she often put on in public. Some people were very kind when they figured out she was a shifter, but some people were very unkind, and she just wanted to be happy here.

  She grabbed her jacket and locked up Lodge 10, made her way through the crunching snow past a gazebo with strands of outdoor lights turned on. It was pretty in the evening shadows with the snow lightly falling around her. Peaceful here. A paradise, and exactly what she needed.

  She moved to open the back door, but a short man with dark hair, a clean-shaven face, and a megawatt smile opened it for her. He was wearing a plain black uniform with a white apron tied to his waist. “I was told to take especially good care of you tonight,” he told her as she thanked him and walked past him. “I’m Roberto. I work the bar here and help serve the food.”

  “Oh, it’s nice to meet you, Roberto. I’m Ava.” She offered her hand, and he shook it firmly.

  “Good handshake,” he complimented her.

  She giggled and told him, “My dad taught me how to shake hands before I went to kindergarten. He told me every woman needs to know how to look a person in the eyes and shake a hand right, so people know she isn’t to be messed with.”

  “I think I would get along with your dad,” came a familiar voice from behind her.

  She spun to find Brock, but he didn’t look like he had before. He was out of his nice sweater and jeans and was wearing a red and navy soccer uniform, complete with indoor soccer shoes and shin guards under navy socks. A duffle bag was thrown over his shoulder and his hair was all messy. She loved it. Obviously, since she just stood there staring.

  “What can I get you to drink tonight?” Roberto asked softly from beside her. “I’ll have it waiting at your place at the table.”

  “Oh, uuuum…white wine?”

  Brock grinned. “Not beer?”

  “Not beer yet. Besides, from the looks of it, you wouldn’t be drinking it with me anyway, so I’ll stick to the stuff I like best.”

  “Do you like sweeter whites? Or dry?” Roberto asked.

  “Sweeter, but not as sweet as Moscato. I don’t know much about nice wine.”