Tied With a Bow

commotion—outside, kids were shrieking as they pelted each other with snow—she’d fallen asleep.
    Havoc apparently though a nap was a good idea, because she hopped up into Benedict’s lap, turned around twice the way dogs do, and settled down. He grinned and stroked her head. Life was good. Life was very good.
     
     
    In the woods behind the Delacroix home, a man sat on the snowy ground, leaning against a tree trunk. He was lean, with a compact body, neither especially tall nor short. He had a blade of a nose, a small dimple in his chin, and the high, harsh cheekbones of one of the People. His hair was like his height, neither short nor long, but it was definitely shaggy.
    On this bright winter morning three days past solstice, he wore only jeans, boots, and a western-style snap shirt. He looked utterly relaxed sitting there in the snow, though his eyes were unfocused.
    At the moment, he wasn’t using them. He’d borrowed some from a friend.
    After another moment of stillness, merriment jumped into those dark eyes. He shook his head and laughed. Oh, such plans he’d had. He’d intended to walk up to the door, knock, and present himself in this body—a perfectly good body, and he’d missed it when that silly cub bungled his calling spell. He’d been looking forward to seeing their faces. Especially Benedict’s.
    Once inside, he would have informed them he was there to complete the task he’d been called for. That was nonsense, of course, but they would have believed him. He was always believable—what kind of trickster would he be if he couldn’t manage that?—and he’d had the best of motives. Benedict was one of his people even if he was a part-time wolf, and Benedict had wanted so much to be accepted.
    The plan had been to tell them he was acting as judge of Benedict’s relationship with Arjenie, then steer his witnesses—all of them, really, but especially those twins!—into explaining to him why Benedict was right for Arjenie. Then he’d have them explain why she was right for him. It was all quite obvious, but people were amazingly able to overlook the obvious if you didn’t give them a nudge.
    Even him. He chuckled again and got to his feet. He wouldn’t be needed here, after all. That family pulled together just fine. But it was a nice day for a walk, a lovely, sunny day, and as he headed for the road he enjoyed the play of muscles and the sunshine, glad to be back in his favorite body. Maybe he’d find someone else who needed a little help.
    Whistling softly, Coyote set off on the road, ready—happy—to lend a little of his special brand of help.

An Inconvenient Mate
     
    LORA LEIGH
    So many dreams and so many years waiting in painful anticipation.
    So many pieces of a heart broken, so many nights spent watching the darkness, wondering where you were.
    I was here, and I was searching, always knowing somewhere, you waited.
    So many times I fought back tears, felt incomplete and feared you weren’t there.
    So many nights I howled into the darkness, incomplete and searching.
    I would have lost hope, I would have lost faith, then your smile lit my world.
    Your lips touched mine.
    For the first time in such a long, lonely life, I touched love.
    You held my heart in your hands.
    I felt its warmth, its power and its promise.
    So many times I only dreamed you were there.
    Then the dream came true . . .

Chapter One
     
    So many dreams and so many years waiting in painful anticipation.
     

WINDOW ROCK, ARIZONA
     
    She couldn’t keep her eyes off him.
    Isabelle Martinez watched the male across the bar as he lifted the frosted bottle of beer and drank. He placed the mouth of the bottle at his parted lips, tilted his head back and seemed to relish the cold bite of the liquid.
    The strong column of his throat worked lazily before he lowered the bottle, allowing his gaze to sweep the room. As though he hadn’t been watching every movement possible in the small bar before and while he’d taken that drink.
    Shaggy blond hair fell to his broad shoulders while the formfitting black of the uniform he wore shifted over his muscles with each move.
    Mission uniform, that was what they called it, she thought in fascination. The black material wasn’t skintight, it was simply formfitting, and it set him apart as exactly what he was—a lethal weapon. A creature no man nor beast should be stupid enough to confront.
    “I double-dare you,” her sister whispered at her ear.
    Chelsea simply had no