Chapter Three Georgia

" M om. Tell me about Mr. Wickstaff. He's not related to us, right?"

My mother is distractedly wrapping up what's left of the gingerbread cookies. "No, no, darling. Well... Finlay and Dougie's Aunt Adeline married your Great-Granddad Fenclan's cousin by marriage, Morris Bogchurch, in the 1950s, I think."

"Okay." I try to paint that tangled family tree in my head and decide I'm safe to fantasize.

"Why do you ask?"

"Oh. I don't know. I don't remember hearing much about him growing up."

"Well, Finlay and your father were close. Then Finlay moved to York when he got married, and your father sort of took over Douglas' training in the manly arts of hunting, skinning, tanning, leather craft, and managing the lands. But..." My mom's eyes drift far away. "I was over there one summer. Trying to figure out where I wanted to live."

I tune out the rest of the story. I know that my mother bounced around between the UK and the USA as a teen and college student—until she met my dad and found out his family had land in Pine Ridge, too. They were one of those "love at first glance" couples. They married after only knowing each other for a few months and moved to Pine Ridge permanently.

My reaction to Wickstaff indicates that I'm built along the same "instalove" lines—not that I have any reason to be interested. "Where's his wife?" I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.

"Whose wife?"

"Wickstaff. You said he was a late matcher, but that indicates he is matched up, right? He has a mate? Wife?" I straddle cultures, human and Orc. I look like a human, but I crave the traditions and possessiveness of Orc mating. My neglected insides throb. The knotting and prolonged hours of fevered sex sound good, too.

My mother's face shifts again, this time to something grave. "Shh, Georgia. Don't bring that up."

"Why?" Does my mom know that I'm full of lusty unclean thoughts about an older married man?

"It was a terrible thing, sweetie. They'd only been married about two years when she drowned. Fishing alone at night... Poor Nicola. Poor Douglas! He doesn't talk about it. Best to leave it alone."

"Oh, God." I put a hand to my mouth, feeling all kinds of ashamed. Here the poor guy waits until he's around my age to find "the one," only to lose her. His poor heart. I can't imagine what Georgie would be like if he lost Claire. Hollow. Devastated. Dead of a broken heart. All those words and morbid, ghastly images spring to mind, and I can't shake them.

Mom to the rescue. "Let's go to the walk-in. Can you help me find the chicken salad and fig jam? I have to take it to the house for the hunt tomorrow night."

Back to food and wedding preparations. Things my family knows, loves, and uses to deflect hard conversations. My brother is (okay, was ) a master at not communicating—and consequently never left his kitchen during working hours from the time he was 21 to 29.

"King Silverbow is coming for the hunt tomorrow night. Maybe you'd like to stop over and visit with your aunts and cousins?" My mother says, a clear temptation in her voice.

Maybe the frosty blast of air from the walk-in fridge makes her think of the only other Orc in Pine Ridge—the arrogant young hockey player for the minor league Lumberjacks. He's younger than me and openly leers when he crosses my path.

Hypocrite much, Georgia? Weren't you just panting for a guy way older than you?

"He must be thinking about settling down." Mom grabs a vat of chicken salad and motions for me to get some of Claire's homemade rolls.

" Settling is the operative word, Mom. I'd still have a wandering heart if I settled for him. I'm not into arrogant loudmouths."

"I'm sure he'll shrink his head when he starts courting, sweetie."

"Aren't we related to the Silverbows?"

"Your cousin Vera married King's cousin's brother-in-law. Technically, there's no blood tie."

"How the hell do you keep track of these things, Mom?" I demand. I'd fling up my arms, but they're full of bread.

"I started studying last month before your father's side of the family could arrive," Mom confesses, blushing.

"I'm still not interested in King. Never have been."

"Mm. Mm." Mom makes little humming noises that mean she's about to meddle.

I brace myself.

"Honey, there are so many nice people in the area. Not just humans, but other beings, too. Now, do you know who I think would make an absolutely amazing husband? Jakob Minegold."

" Mother !" Minegold is the nicest guy in the world, but that vampire is older than my great-grandmother! I suppose that doesn't matter when you're not getting any older. Not to mention the fact that other species age differently, so mentality and maturity should matter more than years of existence. And I do have a thing for older men, it seems. But— No. Just no. I'm not into older men. I'm into one man in particular—not that he'll ever even look in my direction.

She continues, undeterred. "Or Genesis. Gargoyles and Orcs have a lot in common, you know, particularly in the way they keep their marriage vows. Oh, and think of the advantages. Your children might have wings."

"No."

"You know, Jasper Wainwright has the loveliest smile, and he's so outgoing, just like you! He'll be at the hunt, too."

"Oh my God. Stop. Just stop . For the rest of the week, I forbid you to think of my future. Focus on Georgie and Claire, okay?"

My mother kisses my temple and swans away. "I can't do that, darling. I've never seen your brother so happy. I want the same thing for you. It's a mother's instinct." She turns back in the door of the shop and smiles her serene, powerful smile.

I know that she's challenging me. If I told her I wanted to stay single and I was happy being footloose and fancy-free, she'd accept it. The problem is that she knows me way too well. I don't want to be alone anymore. I'm sick of seeing all the people I know and love get married and feeling like I'm the only single person left in town.

It's not true, but it's a crappy delusion to have.

"I want him to want me. Not settle for me. I want to feel that thing you and Dad had. One glimpse of his face and you knew ." My fingers curl into my fist. (Don't tell Claire I squashed some of her snowflake rolls.)

"Oh. Oh, sweetie. He'll come along." Mom comes back to cup my cheek, her eyes soft and sympathetic. "I know it."

Outwardly, I nod and force a smile. Inside, I'm feeling confused and kinda miserable.

I think he's already here—but something is wrong. It's broken. One-sided. All of my life, I've been the cute blonde at the coffee shop. Every man and monster in town has flirted with me. Now, it's the other way around. I want Douglas Wickstaff to notice me—and I get the feeling I could serve pie naked and he'd only look up long enough to ask for the WiFi password.

Maybe I'll be glad when he goes back to Scotland.