The notorious Lizzie Crowe — excuse me, the notorious Elizabeth, Mrs. White-to-you, literally just called my people trash.

Normally, my alpha would be rising right about now in response to that. But it’s not.

Because of Fallon. Because all I can focus on is her distress.

The group of shifters around me vibrates with resentment. I hum a covert command to the bears, at least, to settle down. They do. Except Gramma.

Guilt washes across her face as Lizzie stares her down. Something deep and painful passes between Opal Wilde and Elizabeth Crowe.

Whatever their history, Gramma feels responsible.

Lizzie has a special sneer for Marvin. The old fart returns her look of disgust.

Only when Liz and Arthur lock eyes does her expression soften — for just a second or two, though.

“Lizzie, I—” Gramma starts.

“Shut up, Opal,” Lizzie hisses, almost in Gramma’s face. Not a smart move for a normal.

“Hey!” Will pushes out of the circle toward Lizzie.

“It’s okay.” Gramma holds my sister’s shoulders.

“No, it’s not. This bitch has—”

“What did you just call my mother?” This time it’s Fallon who turns protective over her elder. Hand on her hip, she advances on Will.

When Will’s bear rises, so does my alpha — against Will. I change my stance to protect Fallon. Gramma, Will, hell, every shifter — bear and otherwise, notices the side I just chose. A few whisper among themselves. None of them can possibly be more shocked than me.

Lizzie waves a dismissive hand at all of us. She pulls Fallon away, toward a Mercedes parked at the curb.

“This is not a good place for people like us,” Lizzie whispers, her eyes dart between Fallon’s in some secret message.

Does Lizzie know?

I glance at the older shifters to judge their reactions to her.

Over the generations, the shifter secrecy code has been awfully strict. Break the code and you risk getting flak from your kind. Push it and you could even be expelled from the community. It’s happened in the past. Before my time, but I’m told it’s happened.

It’s a zero tolerance policy that we’ve been taught from birth. Only a handful of trusted normals are aware of the other races that live among them in these mountains.

“Come home with me, Fallon,” Lizzie pleads with her daughter.

“You’re Fallon?” Will darts a glance at me.

“She’s Roni!” Mads, my youngest sister, bounces excitedly.

Who?

“Yes, she is.” Lizzie smiles. She squeezes Fallon’s hands. “By the way, Stefano wants an exclusive with you.”

Well, Stefano can get in fucking line.

“He’s been trying to reach you,” Lizzie says.

Fallon lowers her head, and her brows pull together in tension. She doesn’t care for Stefano.

Good.

This is an entirely different woman than the one I met at the Cantina. Last night’s Fallon was fun-loving and relaxed. This one is serious and tense.

“This is it. You’ve made it to the top,” Lizzie says.

“I’m not sure I want the top,” Fallon’s voice is so small I have to strain to hear it.

“Baloney.” Lizzie frowns. “It’s your dream come true.”

I don’t know either of these women, or what the hell they’re even talking about, but I can tell when someone is trying to be brave. And right now, Fallon is trying to screw up her courage.

C’mon, gorgeous. You can do it.

Softly, Fallon shakes her head. Her throat ripples with a nervous swallow. “It’s really your dream, Momma. It always was.”

The smile slides off Lizzie’s face.

“Uh, Fallon?” Leon pokes his head out of the courthouse door. “Pardon me for interrupting. Unless you get back in the courtroom right away, Judge Garfield will resume the auction.”

DeSoto, who has been standing back watching all this go down, raises an eyebrow. That look alone tells me that the douchebag outbid us for The Flying Crowe — probably by a million or two.

He adjusts his designer suit jacket and turns to scoot past Will with a smile and light touch on her arm. My sister blushes and watches his back. I don’t like her crush on him one bit. No one knows anything about him.

Quietly, he slips by Leon to go back inside.

The rest of us watch Fallon and Lizzie face each another. Our way of life could very well depend on what Fallon decides. Take ownership of the ranch and stay, or leave with her mother.

She stays. We’re good.

She goes. We’re fucked.

DeSoto will win the auction.

Lizzie blinks first. She shrugs. “Why do you want that damn ranch? I’ve told you, there are no deep Crowe roots there.”

The Crowes have owned the spread for just a couple of generations. Jerome Crowe, Lizzie’s father, showed up one day with his young family in tow. Somehow he had convinced the owners into selling and before anyone knew what was going on, the Crowes became our neighbors.

The old timers tell me that, for normals, they were okay. The Crowes were the kind of neighbors that kept to themselves and those are the kind of neighbors shifters tend to like.

“But there could be.” Fallon’s voice is a bit stronger. “I can see myself sinking really deep roots here.”

I suck in a breath and hold it.

She’s staying?

That’s what it sounds like.

“I have to try, Momma. Please try to understand.”

She’s staying!

In unison, the tension of the shifters releases. I exhale as silently as I can and do my best to keep my poker face in place.

Lizzie is livid.

“I have work to get back to.” With a spin, she steps off the curb and opens her car door. “Call me when you come to your senses.” She ducks inside gracing us all with one more sneer. “It won’t take long.”

Lizzie slams the door, starts the engine and drives away.

It takes everything I have not to reach for Fallon. I literally curl my toes in my boots and clasp my hands together to control myself. That doesn’t come close to controlling the urge.

Mads nudges my elbow.

I should?

Mads nods.

Just as I’m about to move, Fallon lifts her chin and turns.

“Let’s go, Leon. I have a ranch to inherit.”

The lawyer opens the door. He gives us a covert thumbs up and follows Fallon back inside.

What should be a celebration — The Flying Crowe saved from game hunters — isn’t.

“We need a meeting, alpha,” Marvin says.

“No, we don’t.” I draw to my full height.

Marvin’s animal growls.

“Not on a public sidewalk,” Gramma says.

Marvin humphs. Frowning at me, he walks away to the parking lot. The other shifters grumble, but follow his lead and leave, too.

Gramma, bear in her eyes, purses her lips at me.

“I can’t believe Roni White is going to live here.” Mads bobs up and down.

I shrug. “That name means nothing to me.”

“Hello?” Mads, the know it all twelve-year-old, crosses her arms and shakes her head. “Roni White? Supermodel?”

Skinny.

Hungry.

Legs for miles.

And a digestion not used to burgers and fries.

It all clicks into place.

Ram, smirking, slaps my back.

“Oh, don’t you celebrate like the others, Wolfram.” Gramma shakes her head in disapproval. “This is not a win. Lizzie’s anger—” She sighs and closes her eyes in true pain.

“You want to explain that anger?” I ask.

Gramma presses her lips firmly together and turns away.

Guess that’s a no.

“Does it matter?” Will asks. “The issue is making sure Fallon is happy here and stays on that ranch.”

“Well, calling her mom a bitch probably wasn’t a good way to introduce yourself.” Mads frowns at Will.

Will squeezes her eyes shut, guilty as charged.

“Don’t worry. Sin’ll make sure she’s happy.” Ram is half serious, half ribbing me. “Am I right, bro?”

“Inappropriate.” I snarl.

Ram winks. “If you can’t get it done, maybe she’ll give me a shot.”

My monster prickles the hair on the back of my neck.

* * *

What was a packed courtroom minutes ago is now completely empty.

In the hall, the door to Judge Garfield chambers is closed and voices murmur behind it. I pick a seat in the lobby area with a sightline to that door — and wait.

While Ram drives Gramma, Will and Mads back up the mountain to get started on chores, I’d thought I’d make sure that Fallon actually signs the papers and show her to The Flying Crowe. It’s the least I can do.

She blindsided me last night, and this morning, dropped right out of the clear blue sky.

I lean my head back against the wall.

Truth is I was ridiculously happy to see her even before she saved our asses.

Truth is I can’t wait to talk to her one-on-one. To see if her tummy feels better this morning. To tell her I’m impressed with her for taking the leap. And to just make her smile like she smiled last night.

Truth is it’s on me to protect my people. Ram tried to wrap it in a joke while poking my bear. But making sure Fallon stays is my responsibility. To be sure, being attracted to her and her to me is a sweet bonus.

Making her happy is the least I can do for our savior.

I take out my phone to check messages.

I have dozens. The first is from Marvin.

“She’s a celebrity, too? What the hell are you doing bringing her here? Son of a bitch! We can’t have that!”

I scowl. I didn’t bring her here. I delete the message. But every single one basically says the same thing.

Will must’ve told everyone.

My text app is loaded up with messages, too.

Yup. She told everyone.

Judge Garfield’s door cracks open.

Fuck ‘em. She’s here and she’s staying.

Leon and Fallon follow Garfield out of his office. She spots me right away.

Like before, she maintains eye contact. She’s so uncertain and scared that it breaks my heart. I guess hunting for a new life would do that to anyone.

Don’t worry, gorgeous. It’ll be okay.

An armful of paperwork, Fallon looks away from me and attempts to stuff it all into the briefcase hanging off her arm. Leon and the judge chat and are oblivious.

I get off my ass to go help her.

Fucking DeSoto swoops in from a side hall to beat me to her. “Congratulations, Miss White.” He holds the bag steady for her.

“Thank you.” Fallon finishes with her briefcase and buckles it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name earlier.”

“Mr. DeSoto.” Charm on, he bows while shaking her hand.

Fucking gag me.

“Seneca to my friends.” He bows slightly, again. “And beautiful women.”

“Just call him Mr. Carpet Bagger.” I butt right in to the conversation and take my place beside Fallon.

DeSoto grins and holds up his hands. “I’m just a real estate guy.”

Just a real estate guy my ass. Will did the research on him. He represents a trophy hunting company. These mountains are filled with elk, deer, all kinds of fowl, mountain lion, lynx, antelope, sheep — and bear.

Our assumption is that they want to turn the ranch into a hunting preserve. That would be a disaster — far worse than run of the mill normals.

When Earl died, he left a complicated will. His spread either goes to a Crowe descendant who will live on the land, or it is to be sold to the highest bidder with the proceeds going to a whole host of nature charities.

Leon tracked down Lizzie easy enough. She wanted no part of The Flying Crowe, and lied about there not being other living descendants.

What exactly did Gramma’s generation do to Lizzie? Damn. It’s got to be bad to make her hate us so much that she’d walk away from a spread like that. The woman didn’t even come back for her own brother’s funeral.

The Wildes, on Gramma’s insistence, held a service and buried Earl in the old frontier cemetery on the back corner of the property.

After no Crowe was found or stepped up, the ranch — located right next to ours — was suddenly up for auction.

That’s when DeSoto showed up, just as suddenly, too.

If there’s one thing that can unite the ornery shifters of Spanish Peaks, it’s the threat of normals wandering around our mountains with rifles.

Still smiling at Fallon, DeSoto reaches inside his silk-lined suit jacket.

“We, my associates and I, are very interested in purchasing your uncle’s—” he pauses. “Excuse me, your property.”

He hands her a business card. To my dismay, Fallon accepts the card and actually studies it. There’s a shield-like logo with Caballero Retreats in fancy script under it. It’s a five-oh-five area code and a New Mexico address.

“Contrary to Mr. Wilde’s assertion, we are not out to cheat you, your mother or anyone for that matter. We estimate the value of The Flying Crowe Ranch to be just shy of nineteen million—”

“Dollars?” Fallon’s face goes white.

So does Garfield’s.

So does Leon’s.

DeSoto smiles and nods. “Absolutely. American dollars. We’re prepared to pay you market value.”

My heart drops to my stomach.

The local shifters couldn’t even raise half a mil. Our wealth is in our land, not our bank accounts.

Garfield faces Fallon. “Remember. The money isn’t yours to keep.”

Fallon nods. “Understood.”

DeSoto frowns. His pocket vibrates. He ignores it.

“As I explained to your mother, we have a team of experienced attorneys ready to contest your late uncle’s will so that you and your family can reap the proceeds.”

DeSoto smirks at Garfield. “These kinds of inheritance stipulations create hardships for families. So much so that they are very easy to overturn in a higher court. At our expense, of course.”

Garfield’s monster glints in his eyes. So does Leon’s.

“No pressure,” DeSoto says. “Keep the card. If you discover that this rural life isn’t for you, give me a call.” His phone goes off in his pocket again. Again, he ignores it. “After all, it’s a lot of acreage to manage by one’s self.”

Fallon won’t be by herself.

DeSoto shakes her hand, Leon’s, the judge’s and insists on shaking mine, too. My bear still doesn’t know what to make of him. Usually I can get a bead on people — judge whether someone is friend or foe, normal or shifter, just by looking in their eyes.

Not this guy.

Sometimes I get a shifter vibe from him. Like outside when he touched Will. Sometimes I don’t. Like right now.

A slight gentlemanly nod of his head, he walks out, pulling his still buzzing phone from his pocket. With any luck, he’ll leave town and never come back.

“Leon.” Fallon turns to him with a tilted head. “You said Uncle Earl’s ranch was a few acres.”

A few?

Garfield and I exchange a glance.

She squints at Leon. “How many is a few?”