8. Juan

8

JUAN

I t was everything Juan could do not to expose his shifter strength and speed. There was no one on the field with him to judge, so he could tear through the rows at an inhuman rate, ripping the tassels from the offending corn. He slowed down when Anderssen was nearby, but he still managed to do twice as much the first day as was expected of him, and Anderssen had been reluctantly pleased.

"You'll prolly be done in four days instead of six," the farmer said, which reminded Juan that he'd only be getting four days of pay instead of six, and he'd already paid the week's rate at the seedy hotel.

But the sooner he was done, the sooner he could go to Madison and leave farms and fate behind.

Destiny was nothing but grief.

Our mate , his jaguar reminded him single-mindedly. Back to our mate!

We're not doing that , Juan said firmly. His mate had a husband. And a kid.

Our kitten! his jaguar insisted. Our mate !

Their kitten! His— Probably she wasn't his mate. But she was his wife. That was cruel enough.

Anderssen had said something and Juan had missed it arguing with his big cat, probably cementing his image as a big, brainless foreign laborer, even if he was third generation American.

"Tomorrow at seven," he said, guessing at the conversation.

Anderssen gave a crisp nod. "Best to hit it before the heat sets in."

It was evening now, and just starting to cool off from the hot Midwest midsummer day. Juan realized the emptiness inside of him was not all emotional; his lunch had been an energy bar six hours earlier, and he was genuinely starving. He'd intended to pick up something at the store because the motel had a mini fridge and a microwave, but instead of shopping, he'd left Green Valley as fast as his beater car would let him.

He wished he'd taken the change from the hardware store; it would have bought a deli sandwich, at least, and maybe a bag of salty chips.

There was a car parked next to his at the entrance of the farm, and Juan didn't give it any attention until the window rolled partway down.

"Juan!"

Juan froze at the voice, looking over at the driver in surprise and dismay.

"Dean?"

From the backseat of the car came a frustrated wordless wail and a dog's answering howl.

Kitten! his jaguar said in joy.

"Just a minute," Dean called, getting out of the car, and Juan wasn't sure who he was talking to, Aaron, the dog, or Juan. The dog scrabbled at the back window and then leapt to the driver's seat as Dean shut the door, sticking his nose in the crack of the window and whining.

"You can keep the change," Juan insisted.

"This isn't about the change."

He and Dean stood eye-to-eye in height, both shifter strong. Juan wouldn't have liked to pick odds if it came to a fight. But why would he bring a toddler and a dog to a fight?

"I told you, I won't be back. You don't have to worry about me."

The evening wind sighed around them like a witness to the promise.

Dean let his breath out and his shoulders slumped. "Look, I don't know how mates work, but I know misery when I see it, and I figure we can have three of us unhappy, or just one. I may not have a fancy degree in math, but I know that I could never live with myself knowing I kept Deirdre from being happy and was just staying with me because she thought she ought to. I'm not the biggest romantic in the world, but I'll do what's right. For me. For her. For our whole family. And maybe that's not you two trying to pretend it didn't happen and running away. Maybe there's a reason for destiny. I don't have to understand it, I don't have to like it, and I sure as hell don't have to like you . But if you're what makes her light up like that, and I'm not…" He scrubbed a hand through his short, dark hair. "If you hurt her, I'll never forgive you."

"Hurt her?" Juan blurted. "Never. Never! I couldn't. I wouldn't!" He was keenly aware that he was dusty and dirty and sweaty and covered in corn silk, and probably making no more sense to Dean than he did to Anderssen. "If it's best for Deirdre that I go, I will," he insisted. "She…you have a family. I don't want to mess that up. I wo uldn't replace you. I wouldn't even try. I'd rather just leave. I didn't know she was married."

Dean was quiet, and then a sorrowful smile cracked his face. "I should have known that if she had a mate out there, he'd be a decent guy."

Juan wasn't sure that decent guy was that ringing of an endorsement, but it felt like high praise.

"Why are you here?" he asked bluntly. If Dean wasn't here to chase him down with change or pick a fight, what did he want?

"Come to dinner."

Dinner? With Deirdre? Juan's expression must have been answer enough.

"I don't know what destiny has in mind, but I figure it's best if we're all on the same page, and the best way to do that isn't to pass notes or play telephone or pretend this hasn't happened."

Under different circumstances, Juan thought that he and Dean would get along famously. He had an honest intelligence and easy-going nature. He was good with his son, and took in injured stray dogs. And he was inviting Juan to his table. With his wife. Who was Juan's mate.

Juan could not find a polite way to turn him down, though he was doubtful they'd find a happy outcome to such an ugly situation, and nodded slowly. "I'd want to shower first," he said, aware that he was filthy from working in the hot sun and dust.

"Please do," Dean said, and Juan had to laugh, liking him even more.

Dean gave him the address and had to fight his way back into the car, scolding the dog, whose name was apparently now Bingo, and assuring Aaron that they were going to drive again, he didn't have to keep yelling .

Juan watched him leave, feeling a shred of hope beneath the despair that had dogged him all day.

Dinner. Dinner with his mate and her husband and their kid. How could this not end in complete disaster?

But something suggested optimism. Was there a solution to this mess that he couldn't see, that they could come up with together?

Should he bring flowers?