5. Scott
CHAPTER 5
SCOTT
S cott let himself into the motel room after leaving the brewery and leaned against the door, heart still aflutter after flirting with Gage.
What just happened? I get a taste of chocolate and strawberries when I see him. That means romance. And what was up with that little energy zing when we touched? I know I didn’t imagine that. It’s never happened before. Could Gage be the one?
Gage pressed every one of Scott’s buttons when it came to attraction. He was tall, dark-haired, muscular, confident but not obnoxious, and charming without seeming to work at it.
What are the odds that I walk into a bar on my own time that not only has someone who might be my forever guy but also happens to be on my list of people from SPAM to check out?
It wasn’t intentional. I didn’t even realize that until later. Shit—when he finds out what I do, will he believe me that I’m not playing with his heart to get information?
I probably shouldn’t go on our date while I’m here working. Then again, I didn’t get a danger vibe. Pretty much the opposite. And if he is specially formulating his brew, that’s not illegal as long as he’s not sourcing ingredients from smugglers.
Everything about Gage checked off boxes. His deep voice, the confident way he walked, his humor, and the sense of safety he radiated like he would keep Scott protected from danger.
Kind of funny since I’m the secret agent, the guy with the gun. But I feel like nothing bad is going to happen to me as long as Gage is around.
Scott thought about what a roller coaster ride the last few weeks had been—getting laid off, being hired by SPAM, moving to Albany, his whirlwind training and orientation, having his eyes opened to the reality of supernatural creatures, and being sent off on his first assignment—where he might have just met his mate.
I’ve always thought that the whole one day can change your life thing was just a meme, but I feel like everything’s been turned topsy-turvy like shaking a snow globe.
Scott liked what he had seen so far of Fox Hollow enough that he had to remind himself why he came to town.
No one I’ve met so far seems like a drug kingpin. It makes sense they’d keep it on the down low. But this is a pretty small town. If someone is running dangerous drugs for shifters, it would be hard to keep it a secret.
He started his day by heading for the Fox Institute, wondering if his former professor would remember him. Scott stopped at the front desk and gave his name, then hung back nervously as she called upstairs.
“Scott!” Dr. Jeffries called out to him as he came down the stairs, grinning in welcome. “It’s been a while.”
“Good to see you too,” Scott said as they exchanged an enthusiastic handshake.
“Come up to my office. We have some catching up to do.” Dr. Jeffries looked to the receptionist. “Please hold my calls.”
She nodded in acknowledgment.
Jeffries ushered Scott into a comfortably appointed office. His former professor looked much the same as the last time Scott had seen him, just a little older.
And I’m not a kid anymore myself.
“Have a seat. How have you been? Last I heard, you were writing food reviews. Have you come to put the Fox Hollow foodie scene on the map?”
Scott appreciated the warm welcome and was pleasantly surprised that Jeffries had kept up a bit with his career. He reminded himself that his former professor was psychic. Scott didn’t know how much the other man could pick up from his thoughts about his reason for coming to town.
“I’m always looking for good places to review,” Scott said, keeping his cover. He did still intend to write food reviews on his personal blog, something SPAM had encouraged to keep up his cover.
“Well, you’ve picked the right town,” Jeffries said with genuine enthusiasm. “People take good food seriously here. We have the best donuts in New York State, and everything at the hotel bar is top-notch. There’s also a craft brewery you won’t want to miss.”
“That’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about,” Scott said. “I’ve heard that people have been smuggling super-charged alcohol and other drugs in from Canada. Have you heard anything about that sort of thing in Fox Hollow?”
Jeffries looked at him closely, looking less open, more wary, and a little sad. “Let’s start over,” he suggested. “I can help you best if you tell me what you really need.”
That was a polite way of catching Scott in a lie, and he tried not to wince.
“I work for a government agency called SPAM that tries to stop supernatural threats,” he replied.
“Like the canned meat?” Jeffries raised an eyebrow.
“Unfortunately, yes. Special Processing And Management. There have been problems with illegal pharmaceuticals and recreational drugs that were altered to affect paranormal metabolisms. The substances are being smuggled, there’s no oversight or quality control, and people have died. And because it’s being done illegally, safeguards and taxes aren’t being observed.”
“And you’re in Fox Hollow looking for illicit drugs and smugglers?” Jeffries looked a little disappointed, which made Scott wince despite his official authorization.
“The town has a reputation for being more open to people with special abilities than most places,” Scott replied. “I was hoping that if you had heard anything, you might point me in the right direction.”
Jeffries sat back, quiet for a moment as if he tried to decide what to say. “Have you talked with Sheriff Armel?”
Scott shook his head. “I’ve been trying to go slow, see what kind of read I get from people.”
Jeffries looked closely at him. “You had clairgustance if I recall.”
“Yes, that’s right.” He was surprised Jeffries remembered, although the talent was fairly rare and more likely to be the butt of jokes than taken seriously.
“You’re aware of Fox Hollow’s rather unique history?”
“It’s a haven for psychics and other people with paranormal abilities if the rumors are true,” Scott replied. “I don’t want to mess that up. I’ve got no intention of bringing the mundane feds in on anything. I just need to stop some bad people and dangerous substances from causing harm.”
“What are you hearing?”
Scott hesitated, trying to decide how much to confide in Jeffries. On one hand, his former professor might steer him toward important clues. But if he felt Scott threatened the town, Jeffries was likely to clam up.
He decided that it was better to have an ally and risk having secrets revealed than alienate his old friend and be frozen out. He suspected that the residents could circle the wagons very quickly even if they were not involved in anything illegal if they feared danger to their town.
“We know that coyotes are bringing illegal drugs and pharmaceuticals in from Canada that have been altered to work with heightened supernatural metabolisms,” Scott said. “There’s no quality control, no oversight. There have been deaths.”
“Coyotes? The animals?”
Scott chuckled. “That’s a term for drug smugglers, although in this case, they’re also coyote shifters.”
“What kind of supernatural creatures are you familiar with besides psychics?”
Scott shifted in his chair, uncomfortable like he was taking a pop quiz. “Shifters. Vampires. Were-creatures. Just like with humans, if individuals are inclined to be dangerous, they’re doubly so under the influence.”
Jeffries didn’t blink at the list, confirming what Scott had already been told in his briefing.
“Tell me about the pharmaceuticals.”
“We understand the need for medicine that works on special metabolisms,” Scott replied. “There’s a big gap right now because the human manufacturers don’t know about paranormal people, and neither does most of the government. So the FDA isn’t involved checking for safety, reliability, and purity with the medicines being created independently for paranormals. That leaves the door open for bad actors—and for people getting hurt.”
“What’s the alternative? Sick people need medicine that works for them. Taking really high doses of regular drugs can cause bad side effects. Getting the FDA involved means risking having people with special skills hauled away to labs or imprisoned ‘for their own protection,’” Jeffries countered. “Mundane druggists have compounded medications for centuries to work with unique conditions. That’s not illegal.”
“The problem is, we don’t know who’s making the substances, whether they do what they claim to do, and what kind of quality control is involved,” Scott replied.
“And you think that’s going on in Fox Hollow?” Jeffries looked concerned.
“No. But it’s a community filled with people with paranormal abilities, and it’s not far from the Canadian border. It’s a logical place to ask questions.”
“We have witches and energy healers and potioners who help people when mundane medicine doesn’t work,” Jeffries pointed out. “Folk cures have been around for centuries. Many of those are effective, and they’re not regulated. They often incorporate the same substances that get used in manufactured pharmaceuticals.”
Scott raised his hands, palms out, in a gesture of truce. “I agree. I just want to keep dangerous stuff from hurting people.” He paused. “That craft brewery—have they adjusted their recipes for local tastes?”
Jeffries raised an eyebrow. “Have you talked with Gage? However he’s formulated his recipes, he’s not hurting anyone.”
“How do we know that without analysis?” Scott definitely didn’t want to find out Gage was a bad guy, but he also had a job to do.
“People with supernatural metabolisms have trouble getting a buzz,” Jeffries told him. “That’s the big problem overall with any kind of medicine—it either takes a lot more to have an effect, or it burns off too fast, or there are reactions or side effects people without abilities don’t have.”
He met Scott’s gaze. “I understand the need for quality assurance. But I also think that people with powers deserve medicines that work for them, and I’m the last person to deny someone a beer buzz on a Friday night.”
“I agree.”
“And there’s a whole industry producing natural remedies for mundanes that isn’t regulated,” Jeffries pointed out. “They slap a warning notice on the box, and everyone keeps going.”
“That might be an option,” Scott said, considering. “I’m new with the agency. I could recommend a review for that.”
In the short period of time since he came to Fox Hollow, Scott admitted he had succumbed to the town’s charm—and fallen for a certain craft brewer. He didn’t want to cause harm to either the town or Gage, but he also had a job to do and needed to stop people from getting hurt.
“How about this?” Jeffries said. “I will ask around on your behalf. I’ll need to blow your cover so people understand why you’re asking, but only to those I know I can trust, and if there’s been scuttlebutt, I’ll relay it.”
Scott was new to the rules for networking, but Jeffries’s proposal sounded like a godsend. “Doesn’t that put you in a bind?”
Jeffries frowned. “Yes—and no. I don’t think any of our regular residents would be involved in something like that, so I’m not worried about narcing on a friend. If there’s someone from outside who is making this area their base to bring in illegal substances and distribute them, it’s absolutely a matter for law enforcement.”
“Thank you. I appreciate the help—and the trust,” Scott replied.
Jeffries fixed him with a look. “The trust goes both ways. Part of helping you is me trying to shield the town from unwanted attention or disclosure. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Scott nodded. “Absolutely. And, thank you.”
“Seems like it’s to everyone’s benefit to get this matter settled. What will you do afterward, now that you know about Fox Hollow?”
Scott felt his face redden. “I like it here. Technically, I can work from anywhere, so if I got clearance from the Albany office, I could relocate here. It’s not a bad drive.”
“We’re not exactly a hub of excitement most of the time,” Jeffries warned. “Although the summer season is fun, and there’s a big snowmobile race in the winter.”
“I get sent out on assignment, so I’m not sure that where I live matters as much as that I can get to where I need to go relatively quickly.”
“We’ve got an airport in Saranac Lake that goes to most major airports on the East Coast,” Jeffries told him. “If you need something bigger, Burlington and Albany aren’t far. Fox Hollow is a great place to live—if you don’t mind snow and cold weather. I liked Ithaca, but I’d never go back.”
What Jeffries described made Scott’s heart ache just a little, naming a void he hadn’t been able to put into words. A home. A community. A place where it’s not just anonymous strangers. And maybe…a mate.
“Can I ask a protocol question?” Scott felt a stab of nervousness and realized he was tapping his fingers on his thigh.
“Sure. What’s on your mind?”
“How do you ask someone what their special talent is without being rude?” He felt sure that his blush gave him away.
“Those sorts of things are open secrets—once people get to know and trust you,” Jeffries replied. “Sometimes it comes up out of necessity if there’s an emergency. But usually, we tell people who we are as part of getting to know them, just like whether or not we hate anchovies or love football.”
“It’s a bit bigger than anchovies.” Scott laughed.
“I guess I’ve gotten used to things here because it doesn’t seem monumental in Fox Hollow. Outside, where we have to hide to be safe—definitely.” Jeffries paused. “If you can find the smugglers, you’re doing all the communities around here a favor because that sort of thing always ends up causing violence. It would just go over better here if you go through the right channels.”
“I’ll talk to the sheriff,” Scott promised.
“And don’t let Gage find out through the grapevine. I think you two might hit it off—but he’s very protective and stubborn. When you know him better, you’ll understand.”
Scott suspected there was more to that statement than it seemed, but he trusted Jeffries’s advice and his psychic insight. “Will do. Thank you for your time—and for trusting me.”
His next stop was the sheriff’s office. Sheriff Armel was a big, burly man with dark hair and a five-o’clock shadow. Now that he knew Fox Hollow’s secret, Scott started playing a mental game of shifter or psychic, and if he picked shifter, guessing what kind.
Armel was definitely a bear.
“Dr. Jeffries let me know you’d be coming.” Armel ushered Scott into his office and closed the door. “How can I be of help.”
Scott flashed his badge. Armel actually paid attention. “SPAM? Can’t say I’ve heard of you—well, the agency, not the ham.”
Scott sighed. “We get that a lot. I believe petitions have been filed to find a new name, but I’m a little afraid of what they might pick next.”
To his surprise, Armel gave a hearty laugh. “You could be right on that—quit while you’re ahead. Now, how come a fed is in Fox Hollow?”
Scott laid out the whole story once more, explaining about the smuggling and the illicit drugs, as well as the issue around unregulated formulation. Armel listened intently, fingers tented in front of him, brown eyes narrowed in thought.
“Why here?” the sheriff finally said. “There are plenty of towns between Fox Hollow and the border and in the Adirondack Park closer to the line.”
“I had to start somewhere, and I heard rumors that Fox Hollow was friendly to people with extra abilities,” Scott replied.
“I’d appreciate any help you can provide in squelching those rumors,” Armel rumbled. “We don’t need that kind of attention.”
“Of course. I’m not here to cause trouble. I’d like to help you avoid problems.”
Armel snorted. “Typical fed. We’re from the government, and we’re here to help.”
Scott winced. The stereotype was well-earned, and he didn’t question Armel’s skepticism, but he still thought of himself as one of the good guys, and from what he knew, SPAM didn’t seem like an agency of evil.
“I don’t want people to get hurt.” Scott tried to be as plainspoken as possible. Armel seemed like a good guy, and since his cover was already blown, he figured he might as well put his cards on the table.
“I get that people with a paranormal metabolism need medications that aren’t being supplied through the normal channels,” Scott continued. “But that also means that the people who take those pharmaceuticals aren’t protected by the normal studies and clinical trials. At least those have doctors watching their patients for bad effects. The recreational drugs—even the mild ones—don’t have anyone keeping track. We find out about a bad batch when folks turn up dead.”
“I’ve heard about problems elsewhere,” Armel admitted. “We haven’t had issues here. I’m not Pollyanna enough to think that things couldn’t go wrong in Fox Hollow, but honestly, it’s harder to get away with things with so many psychics around.”
“True. And I’m glad for you. Other towns are getting hit, and some of the drugs are making their way to bigger cities. The problem is spreading. And all our intel points to coyotes coming across the border and into the Adirondacks as the main path,” Scott said. “If you have a better idea of how to find the people responsible, I’m all ears.”
“Coyotes who are actual coyotes, huh,” Armel chuckled. “That’s as good as SEALS that are seal shifters. And, I guess, being a bear who is also a Smokey.”
Scott relaxed a little. “Thank you for understanding. I wanted a chance to get a sense of the place before I started flashing my badge around.”
“The thing is, while the Adirondacks are wild, it’s rather misleading,” Armel said. “Go due north and cross the border, and you’re not far from Montreal. Go northwest, and there’s Ottawa. So while you have the big city drug maker possibility, there’s more wilderness on our side than on theirs for them to hide.”
“These guys don’t need a big operation to manufacture their stuff.” Scott was relieved that Armel was cooperating. He had feared a round of dick measuring and turf wars and had been dreading a confrontation.
“Most of the border with Canada isn’t fenced or guarded. There are back roads that cross over with nothing but a warning sign. I’ve heard plenty of stories about hunters blundering into Canada chasing a deer or a moose,” Armel said. “You honestly couldn’t find a better place for people who were determined to slip through—especially if your coyotes can actually become coyotes.”
“That’s the problem. It’s hard enough to catch people, but the Mounties can’t go around arresting coyotes.”
“That would attract attention,” Armel agreed. “But you can’t single-handedly hit every little burg in the forest. So what’s the plan?”
“Good ol’ shoe leather,” Scott replied. “Talk to people, ask questions—sooner or later, someone has heard something.”
“You sure they didn’t send you out on a snipe hunt?” Armel asked. “These woods are big, largely unpopulated, and full of places someone who doesn’t want to be found can hide. Damn near perfect for running contraband—which, by the way, people in these parts have been known to do for a couple hundred years, long before the Revolution.”
Scott had wondered that himself when he realized how vast the territory was, but he trusted April and her crew not to put him through a hazing.
“They have psychics of their own back at headquarters. And this was where they wanted me to start. I guess it’s up to me to find out why.”
“I won’t get in the way of your investigation, but I expect you to respect people’s rights and property,” Armel warned. “If you need backup, ask for it. And while I’ll happily help you bust bad guys, I’m rather protective of the folks here so best be very sure before you point fingers.”
Scott took the warning to heart, appreciating the offer of assistance. “I’d like to know if you hear any rumors or see anything strange. I realize this is a tourist area, and plenty of hikers and campers come through here, but the drug runners are going to want to pass their cargo off quickly to minimize their risk. So I guess if you see something strange, no matter how small, say something.”
“Will do.” Armel stood, signifying the end of their meeting, and shook Scott’s hand with his big mitt. “Give my best to the boys in Albany.”
By the time Scott got back to the Fox Hollow Lake Motel, it was time to get ready for his date with Gage. The butterflies in his stomach surprised him. While Scott hadn’t dated anyone recently, he didn’t usually get nervous just meeting someone for drinks and dinner.
This isn’t just someone. This might be THE someone. I don’t want to screw it up.
I probably shouldn’t be going on a date while on a job. They didn’t say I couldn’t. And I have no reason to think Gage is doing anything wrong with his special brew. I don’t think my taste magic would steer me wrong about him being my person if he was also a bad guy.
I haven’t felt like this about someone in a long time. That’s part of why I don’t want to wait. I’m not just looking for a fun evening and a roll in the hay. I might not be a shifter, but I’d really like to find my mate.
When the taste of chocolate and strawberries came to his mouth again, Scott took that as a hopeful sign that things would work out.
Scott showered, making sure to manscape and clean thoroughly everywhere, just in case. He wasn’t sure how far he wanted to take things tonight—or whether intimacy would even be on offer—but if the evening moved that way, he wanted to feel good about himself.
It’s been a while. Too long. But I got tired of guys who just wanted a good time and no strings. Maybe I grew up or got old. I’m ready to find the right one.
He took time to comb his curls into some sort of style instead of just drying it and debated what to wear. Since he had packed for a variety of scenarios, he dug out a nice casual shirt and a dressy pair of jeans that showed off his ass.
Scott looked at himself in the mirror from all angles and let out a sigh. “That’s as good as it’s going to get. I hope he likes what he sees.”
He felt as nervous as a high school date when he arrived at the Fox Hollow Hotel and stepped up to the dining room podium to be seated. When he didn’t immediately see Gage, his heart sped up, although he highly doubted he was being ghosted.
“Hi.” Gage slipped up beside him. “You’re right on time.” Gage slid his hand lightly across Scott’s lower back as he stepped up and checked in for their reservation.
Gage looked good enough to eat in a black V-neck T-shirt and tight black jeans. He had primped a little as well, making it clear this was a real date and not just friends catching a bite to eat.
“I was worried about getting caught in traffic,” Scott joked.
Gage grinned. “This winter, during the snowmobile rally, that might actually be a problem. Most days, no.”
The host took them to a table in a quiet nook where they were out of the main traffic flow but could still see the small stage where a guitarist would be playing later in the evening.
“I like the vibe. Classy Victorian.” Scott looked around. The restaurant managed to be formal but not stuffy with a rustic chic style that harkened back to the area’s Gilded Age past.
“A hundred and fifty years ago, when the Vanderbilts and their buddies came up here to their great camps, that made the area popular with the people who weren’t in the robber baron class but wished they were,” Gage replied. “Which fueled a boom in hotels like this and the Sagamore, among others, for the folks with aspirations.”
“They weren’t the only ones though.” Scott remembered what he had read. “Plenty of people like to hunt and fish.”
Gage nodded. “There are private lands throughout the area, many of them owned by regular people. And of course for Fox Hollow, the people who left Lily Dale after the scandal about the Fox Sisters turned this from an outpost into a real town.”
Scott had read up on the area, and found the history fascinating. He was especially intrigued about how three sisters who had gained worldwide fame for being mediums had fallen from grace when their psychic abilities were questioned. No longer welcome in Lily Dale, a town famous for embracing Spiritualism, their followers had made the trek to what became Fox Hollow and opened the Fox Institute.
“That whole Spiritualist era is really interesting,” Scott said. “I know that some people said it was all fake, but from what I’ve read, it seems like there were folks with real abilities who got painted with the same brush as the frauds.”
He couldn’t read the look in Gage’s eyes, but then Gage nodded. “I agree. And the Fox Institute carries on the legacy, working to develop those authentic gifts. A lot of folks around here have some psychic ability. Whether or not people believe doesn’t make their gifts less real.”
They took a moment to study the menu. Scott’s stomach growled, reminding him that lunch had been too long ago.
“All the food I’ve had here was good.” Gage shifted so that their hands brushed. His knee bumped Scott’s and stayed pressed against him, although they had plenty of room.
“What do you recommend?”
“I haven’t had everything, but I’ve enjoyed all the stuff I’ve tried, and I’ve never heard that anyone got something they didn’t like,” Gage replied. “They’re famous for their wings and steaks, but their pasta dishes are good, too. I don’t want to be too full to move when we’re done since the night’s young.”
His tone and the look in his eyes conveyed intent, and Scott smiled back, feeling himself chub at the possibilities.
“We can always burn off the calories.” Scott hoped he hadn’t forgotten how to flirt.
“Sounds good to me.”
Scott ordered the Chicken Piccata, and Gage got the Chicken Scampi plus a bottle of Pinot Grigio.
The dinner crowd filled the empty tables, and a pleasant conversational buzz filled the room.
“So what brings you to Fox Hollow?” Gage asked. The tone was light, but Scott felt the weight of the words.
“I’m a food reviewer,” he fell back on his cover, which had been the truth until a few weeks ago. He didn’t want to lie to Gage, especially since he hoped they could hit it off, but he didn’t know him well enough to share his secret. I hope that we get close enough for me to tell him the whole truth. But I’ve already told Armel—so I can’t wait too long.
“I thought I’d catch up with one of my professors from Ithaca who relocated up here and do a foodie tour with reviews—working holiday.” It was mostly true, but he still felt a pang of guilt.
I just got to town. I haven’t done much yet to track down the bad guys. Blowing my cover so soon isn’t going to help me catch the coyotes.
“Well, you’ve already hit the two best places in town—my taproom and the hotel,” Gage joked. “But I’m happy to make recommendations about other good places in the area. We’ve got some amazing restaurants up here—when the cold sets in, people really value good food.”
“I’d appreciate your suggestions,” Scott replied. “I’m open to ideas.” He kept eye contact longer than in a casual conversation and saw a spark in Gage’s gaze that said the interest was mutual.
Scott asked more about how Gage came to start the taproom, sincerely interested and not as part of his cover. “That’s quite a different path if all the rest of your family is military.” He appreciated Gage’s independence.
Gage sighed. “Yeah, I won’t say that my choices always went over well, and I’m not as close to them as I used to be, but this was what I wanted to do, and I’m proud of how it turned out.”
“How do you come up with the flavors? They’re very original.” Scott told himself he wasn’t interviewing Gage as a suspect; instead, he hoped he could clear Gage so they could move on to other things without guilt.
“I go with what appeals to me, and people make requests,” Gage said. “I’ve been working with beer one way or another for a while now. Some combinations are spectacularly bad, but others turn out even better than I hoped.”
“Does it take a lot of exotic ingredients? You’re not exactly in a metropolitan area to run to a specialty store.” Scott held his breath, waiting for an answer.
“I keep things simple. Traditional formulas with a twist, local ingredients. Anything I can’t get in Fox Hollow, I can usually get in Saranac Lake or Lake George. It doesn’t pay to use ingredients that are too difficult to get because then they go out of stock or it makes the batch too expensive,” Gage explained.
Scott let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Gage had no reason to lie to him. Unless Gage was psychic or had been tipped off—neither of which Scott thought was true—his answer placed him beyond suspicion. Relief made Scott’s heart flutter. I ran his name through the database, and it was clean. Good. Because I already know I want him.
They flirted through dinner, brushing fingers, nudging knees, and dropping innuendos. Even so, they lingered over the meal, in no rush to see where the evening led. When the acoustic guitarist took his spot on the small stage, Gage and Scott dallied over a second glass of wine, fingers intertwined beneath the table.
“I’ve got this—this time.” Gage picked up the tab. “You can do it next time. Because I’d really like us to have a next time.”
“Me, too,” Scott replied. “How’s the rest of your week look?”
Gage chuckled. “You don’t let any grass grow under your feet.”
“Not when I see something I like.” Scott surprised himself with his candor.
“How about dinner tomorrow night? We can talk about more places for your reviews, and if you’re open during the day, we could go over to the Adirondack Museum. It’s a pretty drive, and the exhibits are a must-see.”
“I’d like that.” Scott squeezed Gage’s hand.
They walked back to where they had parked, and the tension crackled so hard between them Scott was surprised he couldn’t see sparks. Neither of them had too much alcohol to drive, so the direction of the night hung in the balance.
“Want to come back to my cabin?” Gage offered. “I’m not ready to say goodnight yet.”
“Neither am I.” Scott was relieved that Gage had made the first move. His cramped motel room wasn’t the ideal love nest.
“It’s not far. Follow me,” Gage said, and before Scott realized what was happening, Gage leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “For luck.” He winked.
“Welcome to my humble abode.” Gage bowed dramatically and swept out his arm when they got out of their cars in front of his cabin.
“Wow. This is great. I’ve only ever had apartments,” Scott said.
The cabin was bigger than Scott expected, the size of a small house. The walls were logs, with cedar plank floors, and while it was not new, it had clearly been cared for lovingly.
“The place used to belong to my friend’s uncle, and when he decided he was too old to come up here anymore, he wanted to sell it to someone in the community,” Gage said. “My friend recommended me, and I got lucky.”
This doesn’t sound like a guy who is going to risk blowing up everything to smuggle drugs, Scott thought. He’s already got what he wants, and he doesn’t need the risk. Plus, he seems seriously invested in the community. He was a natural to be on my list to check, but they told me to trust my instincts, and I think Gage checks out—and not just because I want to sleep with him. SPAM can’t fire me for having sex. James Bond did it all the time.
“What do you like to watch?” Gage turned to him when they settled on the couch in front of the TV. “Sports? Movies? Got a favorite streaming show?”
Scott held his breath, hoping their chemistry and interests continued to align. “I like most things that are paranormal—ghosts, magic, that sort of thing. Not necessarily horror—just spooky. I hate to say it, but I’m not a big sports person, although I can enjoy a good game with the right people—and good tailgating food.”
“Then we’re on the same page,” Gage replied. “I’ll admit, I have a weakness for shows about monster hunters, especially if the actors are hot.”
That narrowed it down, and they found they shared a couple of favorite series. The night was still young with plenty of time to watch an episode from each and then decide where the evening should go.
“Do you want to spend the night?” Gage asked. “I can open another bottle of wine, and no one has to worry about driving.”
Whether they continued binge-watching or moved to other pursuits, Scott welcomed the invitation. His motel room seemed cold and lonely, and he felt warm and welcome in Gage’s cabin. “That sounds fantastic.” I hope he’s who he seems to be. I’m really falling for this guy.
Another glass of wine left them both relaxed but still barely buzzed. They moved closer together on the couch until they were sitting pressed together from knee to shoulder, fingers intertwined. When the credits rolled, Gage turned toward him.
“I want to kiss you—for real. Is that okay?”
“I’ve been wanting to kiss you all night,” Scott confessed.
For a while, kisses and touching sufficed as they explored each other. Scott was already hard, and he could feel Gage’s erection pressing against him through his jeans. Scott tasted chocolate and strawberries again. Everything I’ve read says a recurring, sensuous taste is telling me this is someone special. A partner. A mate.
Gage touched Scott with reverent possession, claiming and passionate. Nothing about his touch was hesitant, although he made sure Scott was on board with every shift.
“Are you okay with this?” Gage asked, letting his hands cup Scott’s ass cheeks.
“Oh, yeah.”
“There’s no rush,” Gage told him. “We don’t have to do everything all at once. We have all the time in the world to do this right. I’m not going anywhere. We belong together.”
Maybe it was their growing bond, but Scott felt like his body was an instrument being awakened to its best music by a maestro. That sounded dramatic, but he couldn’t think of a better way to put into words what it felt like to be seduced by a lover who knew how to bring him pleasure and cared about making it memorable for both of them.
Scott didn’t have extensive experience. Most encounters had been rushed fumbles when he was younger, neither of them really knowing what they were doing or how their bodies worked. When he got older, he had been left unsatisfied by lovers who didn’t bother to make sure the release and satisfaction were mutual, who got too rough or showed a side of themselves during sex that turned Scott off.
Gage knew how to give pleasure. He licked and sucked at Scott’s nipples until Scott almost thought he would come just from that. By the time Gage had worked his way down Scott’s body to blow him, Scott was aching for release. Scott returned the favor, enjoying seeing Gage come apart and spill into his mouth.
They kissed and stroked until they were hard again, in no hurry for another climax, just enjoying getting to know one another at a whole different level. He mapped out Gage’s sensitive spots, and Gage found the places where even a slight touch went straight to his balls. He discovered where Gage was ticklish and surrendered to Gage learning the same about him.
Scott tried to memorize Gage’s body, every freckle and mole. He learned about the dog bite scar and the thin white line from a bike accident in middle school. Gage wanted to know about Scott’s tattoo, and he had admitted it was a protection symbol borrowed from his favorite television show.
To Gage’s credit, he hadn’t laughed. Instead, he said that symbols held power because of belief in them, so it didn’t matter about the source if Scott’s intent was sincere.
Lying together afterward felt particularly intimate, talking about everything and nothing in the dark. Gage ran hot, so sleeping tangled up wasn’t going to work, but the afterglow was peaceful and encouraged Scott’s fantasy that Gage could be his forever person—his mate.
They hadn’t fucked each other—yet—but they had checked off most of the other boxes, and Scott sensed they both were in favor of taking the next step. How far they went on their next date, he didn’t know, but he realized that he had never felt as comfortable with someone as he did with Gage.
He and Gage were easy together, something Scott hadn’t experienced often, and he didn’t feel judged or measured. They liked many of the same things, so conversation didn’t take effort.
Gage was hot in an adorably nerdy way, even better because he seemed confident and didn’t swagger. They had a combustible sexual attraction, but Scott sensed that Gage was looking for more than a hot roll in the hay.
He doesn’t seem like a guy who plays the field. Maybe he would like to find a forever guy, too. Am I being fair to let this move forward? He doesn’t know the truth about what I do—and I can’t tell him, at least not for a while. Would SPAM let me work remotely? Gage can’t relocate his taproom, and he loves living in Fox Hollow. It wouldn’t be fair to ask him to give that up. I think I could fall in love with living here too.
I don’t think he’s in on the smuggling, but I do get the sense there’s something he isn’t telling me. Then again, I haven’t told him everything either. It’s early days—we have a lot of getting to know each other to do, and I’ve got a case to solve. Telling the sheriff and Dr. Jeffries was one thing. And I’ll tell Gage before I tell anyone else. But not yet.
I’m sure he’s some sort of paranormal. He’s not a strong psychic, but I pick up some ability. There’s something more, but I don’t recognize the feel of it.
Scott had read the brief on Fox Hollow before he left Albany. By all accounts, the Fox Institute was well-regarded and above reproach with a sterling reputation and finding that Dr. Jeffries was on faculty there was a real bonus.
As for the rest of the town, reports said that it offered a safe place for shifters of all kinds, and as long as everyone played nicely together, SPAM didn’t seem inclined to intervene. He suspected that people with other special abilities might have also found a haven there. Scott also got the impression that SPAM’s intel about such things might not be widely shared with other, less tolerant, government agencies.
Scott had no desire to bring the wrong sort of feds down on what seemed like a truly lovely town.
He thought about the tasting at the taproom. He had come to Fox Hollow looking for clues to a smuggling operation and instead found a man who might be his fated mate if you believed in that sort of thing. And Scott did, deep down.
At the same time, there was something paranormal about Gage and his brews that Scott couldn’t define. He had some experience with psychics, but he didn’t sense that to be Gage’s thing.
Is he a shifter? How would I know if I don’t see him change? He seems happily settled here in Fox Hollow. Not exactly the type to throw in his lot with smugglers and drug runners. I like him. Maybe too much. We have a connection—is it enough to build on? That’s jumping ahead a lot after just a few days, but we’re both old enough to know what we want.
Could it work? Or is there some nefarious connection I haven’t spotted yet? I hope not. I think I could fall for Gage—even more than I already have.