Silver James

This snippet isn’t last week’s #ThursdayThreads though it does contain the prompt: **”You’ll be fine.”** The TT snippet involved Maura and Dev but I featured Bowie and Fiona this past weekend on my FB author page. Therefore, y’all get a Bowie and Fiona snippet. I might have featured part of this scene for a previous Wednesday Words because I think a shorter version might have been the result of a TT exercise. I make no promises about my memory. This scene is pretty self-explanatory.

Ronan looked up from the paperwork he’d been studying. Brendan stood in the doorway, shifting foot-to-foot, looking everywhere but at him. He waited, knowing the kid wouldn’t have intruded without reason.

“Uh…boss?” Brendan still didn’t meet his eyes.

“What is it?”

“Well, ya see…” The younger man inhaled and finally met his gaze. 
“Finn came t’me because things have gone missin’.”

Ronan straightened. “Someone’s been stealin’ from the bar?”

“Well…sort of.”

“Sort of? Who?”

“Yeah, well. It’s been small stuff. And the girl, she’s been actin’ suspicious.”

“Which girl?”

“Bowie’s girl. Fee. Fiona. She’s been sneakin’ out of his place. Plus she’s been helpin’ Finn out in the back.”

“Helping how?”

“A bit of cleanin’ and such. And maybe counting inventory.”

“Where’s Bowie?”

“Downstairs.”

“And Fiona?”

“That’s the thing, boss. She slipped out the back door about five minutes ago. Bowie thought she’d gone to the loo.”

Ronan pushed out of his chair. “Let’s go.”

They found her behind the dumpster and confronted her.

Fiona, eyes brimming with tears, faced them down. “I can’t abandon them.” Her chin jutted at a stubborn angle despite the tremor in her voice.

The three men exchanged wary glances. Female tears plus a fiery temper boded ill for them. Something yowled, a pitifully weak sound. That’s when they saw the milk carton and the rag-filled wooden box at her feet.

Green eyes snapped at them as she squatted and snuggled four tiny kittens in her arms. “And I won’t let you hurt them.”

Bowie scrubbed the back of his neck. “Cats. It had to be cats.”

What were Wolves supposed to do?

Ronan smothered a laugh and clapped Bowie on the back. “We’ll be leavin’ you to deal with this, boyo. You’ll be fine.” He snagged Brendan by the scruff of the neck and gave him a small shove toward the back door. “You’n me are gonna have a chat with Finn. I doubt the girl’s been pilferin’ from the till.”

The door closed behind them, leaving a baffled Bowie and Fiona, who was torn between fear and anger. She wasn’t some china doll to be put up on a shelf and dusted once a month. She was a woman and had been capable of providing for herself long before Bowie walked into her life. Granted, she’d been a bit shell-shocked when he first rescued her but now? She wasn’t fragile. And she was his mate, or so he claimed. If he thought she’d be shy and demur, a rug to wipe his feet on when he came in at all hours of the night after doin’ the Blessed Mother Mary knew what, then he had another think coming.

There you have it. You know what Fiona looks like now so you can get a better picture of her standing there with kittens in her arms, facing down the scary Wolves. Poor Bowie. And I promise, Ronan is STILL laughing about this! In update news, I’m still making progress. It’s like slogging through the swamp but upward and onward. Writers, as always, take the prompt and run if you so desire. Readers, what’s fine in your life today?

Since last week was Thanksgiving, there was no #ThursdayThreads but do not despair! There are words. Since I shared the models for Declan Donahue and Maggie O’Brien over the weekend, it’s time for y’all to get a hint of how they are together. There might be a tiny spoiler about a previous scene in the book, but by the time you get around to reading the behemouth (at 100+K words and counting), you’ll have forgotten this little scene. My dad was a good guy and never complained about watching me. My brother, on the other hand? Yeah…maybe I channeld him a little into Deck for this scene. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

Declan Donahue shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from rubbing at his temples. That action wouldn’t ease the headache forming there. Neither would arguing with the woman currently facing him down from across her front parlor. Who even had parlors in this day and age anyway? It was a living room, despite the fussy decorations and furniture she’d kept after inheriting the place. The outfit had wanted to buy the house when the old lady died but her granddaughter moved in lock, stock, and barrel before they could make an offer. Ronan was insistent they eventually own the whole block and have most of the Boru men settled there.

If we claim her, there’s no problem. He growled at his inner wolf’s insinuation. Maggie O’Brien was not his mate. His wolf howled with laughter.

Maggie scowled.  “Are you coming or not?”

“Do I have a choice?” Reading her experssion, he decided it would be best to just keep his mouth shut—and his thoughts to himself. Remember, you need her…cooperation, he reminded himself. Ronan told him to woo the townhouse out from under her. Easier said than done, especially since he’d ended up practically dead on her front stoop a month ago.

“You always have a choice, Declan.”

Of course he did. Not. He gestured toward the door. “The car’s at the curb.”

She preceded him out, turned to lock the door then skipped down the steps. His Land Rover was parked in its normal place. He ushered her into the front passenger seat before heading for the driver’s side.

Once they were on their way, Maggie asked, “Do you know where we’re going?”

He inhaled before calmly saying, “Yes. We won’t be late.” Was it too much to ask for a major traffic tie-up to delay them? Probably. Sadly, it was a short drive to his own personal hell. He found a spot and parked and they headed toward the auditorium. The only good thing so far was that she’d slipped her hand under his arm as they walked.
Inside, they were confronted by a din of noise and scurrying people. They found seats just as the house lights flashed. Moments later, they lowered to a gloomy cast that he could still see through. There were times he could curse the abilities that came with hosting his inner wolf.

The curtains parted, music swelled and now here he sat--trapped. How had he been brought so low? One of the scariest lawyers in Boston sitting in the dark watching Maggie’s nieces twirl around the recital stage in pink tutus. If any of the boys found out, he’d have to kill them all.

There you have it, just a quick slive of “normal” live for one of the Boston Wolves. Writers, if you’re looking for a little inspiration, try this phrase: **own personal hell**. That should give your characters something to thing about. Readers, do you like little scenes like this that don’t necessarily move the plot along but give a peek into the every day life of a character while nudging the relationship along? Inquiring writers want to know. Happy Hump Day, y’all!