Page 37 of Loan Wolf (Green Valley Shifters: Generations #1)

37

CLARA

G abe met her at the edge of the curtain and swept her up into a bear hug that lifted her off her feet. “You sexy, gorgeous rebel,” he growled, close to her ear.

Clara could barely hear him over the roar of the audience.

She’d performed on bigger stages, to larger audiences, but she was not sure she had ever gotten a response so enthusiastic.

They cheered and clapped and stomped their feet, and when Clara went out to do a curtain call holding the flowers that Gabe had given her, they were all standing and whistling and demanding more.

She waltzed to the center of the stage feeling like her feet had wings instead of shoes, and bowed and blew kisses and waved. Dozens of bouquets were tossed onto the stage. Then she gestured to the rest of the cast to join her and gave them their bemused due. Then Clara insisted that Linda take the stage and get her share of the appreciation, and she was sure that the audience must have stinging hands from all the energy that they put into their applause.

The house lights finally came up and Clara could scamper offstage and back into Gabe’s arms.

“I wasn’t sure how that would go over,” she admitted. “Green Valley isn’t exactly off-Broadway, and I was afraid I would violate their expectations.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Gabe said, like Clara knew he would. “You were you, and you were wonderful.”

Clara saw Twiller over his shoulder and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. “There’s an afterparty in the lobby. I’ll see you there.”

Gabe grudgingly let her go and Clara, with a few pit stops to shake hands with other cast members and congratulate a few of the funniest actors, made her way to her dance instructor.

They stared at each other without comment for a long moment, then Twiller opened her arms. “You were amazing,” she said warmly.

Clara’s last reservation vanished and she stepped into the woman’s embrace. “I didn’t think you’d approve.”

“Oh, I definitely did not,” Twiller said with a chuckle. “It was frightfully sloppy. The choreography was a trash fire. The song was awful. You were late on the beat at least three times, and your posture—!” she shuddered. “But you were pure art, and I am proud of you.”

Clara felt tears prick her eyes.

“Oh, don’t cry,” Twiller said in horror. “You’ll make your face blotchy. There will be photographers out there. Put your chin up and get those shoulders back!”

Clara obeyed automatically, drawing herself up proudly. “I’m planning to stay in Green Valley,” she said firmly.

Twiller snorted “That much is painfully obvious, child. It’s a shameful waste of good talent, but I’m sure you’ll be happy here with that feral boy of yours. Pinch your cheeks and let’s go out to greet your adoring public now.”

The lobby of the theatre was teeming with people who wanted to meet Clara, or pretend they already knew her, and praise her for the unexpected performance. She heard ‘Come back, Baby Jesus!’ a hundred times and laughed every single time. Twiller coolly declaimed credit for the act, but traveled the room supportively at Clara’s side. “I would have left the middle finger off at the end,” she said severely, several times.

Clara hugged her stepmother and her sister, who had loved every moment of it. “I’m going to get a tattoo of you in your tutu giving the middle finger over your shoulder,” Vicky said.

“Please don’t,” Clara begged.

Then Linda wanted to introduce her to someone else, and talk about her plans for the theatre. They smiled for dozens of photos and selfies, and Clara didn’t correct Linda’s heavy hints that there would be more Green Valley dance performances in the future.

Gabe watched her from a corner of the room with a glass of untouched white wine in his hands. Clara drank several herself, and was starting to feel tipsy when he finally stepped forward and saved her from a long-winded local politician. “Ready to head home, Clara?” he said, staring at the man with challenge in his eyes.

“More than ready,” Clara agreed, cuddling into his arms. She was starting to feel the rush of adrenaline fade away, and her knees wanted to fold.

She wanted to go home, home with Gabe, home in Green Valley.

She changed into flats at last and he steered her outside into the warm, humid darkness outside of the air conditioning. There were fireflies flashing in the yards as he walked her the quiet blocks to his house, and frogs sang. The wine wore off with the walk.

“Did you know that your dance manager is a shifter?” Gabe asked, as they were turning off the sidewalk to his house.

Clara stopped in surprise. “She is ? Did she t ell you?”

Gabe shook his head. “No, I just… knew somehow. There are actually a lot of shifters in Green Valley. More than I’d guessed.”

“You got my wish from Mueller’s Pond?” Clara said jealously, but Gabe took her too seriously.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said earnestly. “It wasn’t something I was asking for!”

Clara took pity on him. “I got my wish, too,” she said, smiling up at him. “You’re my mate and I don’t have to be a shifter to know it.”

Gabe looked relieved, and he unlocked the house and turned on the lights.

“Oh!” Clara looked around in wonder.

“It was time,” Gabe said, closing the door behind them.

The walls were almost bare. Gone were the moralistic paintings and the collectibles, packed away in stacks of moving boxes by the door. Some of them were marked DONATE and some were labeled SELL. One box said SENTIMENTAL SHIT on the side. There was still a vase of flowers at the table, but the row of angels was gone. He’d left the checked tablecloth and a Van Gogh painting of sunflowers.

“I figured you want to have a say in what I put up instead,” Gabe said. “We can hit the second hand store, or we can drive to Madison and shop at one of those high-falutin’ art galleries if you’d rather. That will be on your credit card, though. I’m just a poor hick biker with no cash.”

“You are not just a poor hick biker,” Clara scolded him. “Are we going to keep sleeping in the basement or do we get to move upstairs where there are windows?”

“If you want,” Gabe said. “It’s actually warmer in the winter and cooler in the summer down there, but we could also use the bedroom up here, or turn the sewing room into a bedroom. The downstairs might be big enough for a dance studio, if we knocked down that center wall and put in a decent floor. It’s up to you.”

“It’s up to us,” Clara corrected him. “We decide. Together.”

“I’ve got a lot of baggage,” Gabe warned her seriously. “And I’m not going to be the kind of guy you can take to parties and show off as your trophy dude. I don’t know the names of hors d'oeuvres or how to kiss asses or speak New York.”

“They speak English in New York,” Clara laughed. “And you don’t have to know the names of the hors d’oeuvres. You just eat them and try not to think of what they’re made from.”

Gabe looked intrigued. “Like, snails, and stuff?”

“Snails, livers, fish eggs, beaver glands.”

“No!”

“You’d be surprised. And anyway, I’ve got plenty of my own baggage. We can have matching luggage.”

“What do you think about matching rings?”

Clara stilled. “Rings, really?”

Gabe scowled. “That’s what is supposed to happen next, isn’t it? Rings and marriage?”

“Do you want to marry me?”

“Do you want to marry me ?”

Clara felt a smile bloom over her face. “Let’s live in sin for a while and see what happens,” she suggested, and she didn’t take the relief on Gabe’s face personally. She knew that he was her mate and that they would be together forever, making each other the best they could possibly be.

She didn’t have to be a shifter to know that he loved her, or that they were going to live happily ever after.