Page 1 of Snarl (Primal Howlers MC #9)

Lennon

Shirley Whitman was my eighty-nine year old grandmother and had lived through four wars, outlived two husbands, won three bouts with cancer, and she was both my hero and my greatest champion.

My sister, Kadance, and I adored her, and the very least I could do for the woman was sweat.

Besides, in three weeks I’d be in west Africa doing field research and needed to get acclimated to the heat.

I’d be visiting during the cooler months on the Serengeti, but still.

I’d recently submitted my doctoral thesis and was not-so-patiently waiting to find out if I’d be leaving for Africa as a doctor, or as a disappointed and mopey postgrad.

Of course, I hoped the results of my work would impress the university enough to offer me a full-time position when I returned, but I wasn’t holding my breath.

Okay, I was holding my breath, but I didn’t want to be.

By the time I arrived at Granny’s apartment complex, I was a swampy mess.

The bun I’d put my hair up into this morning had long since given up and was now dangling from the side of my head.

I felt sticky all over and I smelled like a yak during mating season.

And believe me, I would know. I’d had close encounters with them in both Nepal and India.

Not that what I looked or smelled like would matter one skinny bit to Gran.

I could show up on her doorstep wearing a burlap sack with half my head shaved and she’d still tell me I looked beautiful.

Then she’d praise me for repurposing the sack so cleverly before complimenting my ‘fashion forward’ hairdo.

The woman was a saint and always saw the best in people. It was one of her many superpowers but I often worried that her positive spin on people would make her vulnerable. Scammers and con artists preyed on sweet, trusting, old ladies like her and I couldn’t always be around to protect her.

I parked in the last remaining guest spot of Gran’s apartment complex and grabbed my tool bag from the back seat.

Granny had called me over two hours ago about trouble with her kitchen sink, but before I could get to her, I had to drop off a hard drive containing the past three years of research to the head of the university’s peer review board, then drive across town to the Denver Health Center to receive the necessary immunizations required for travel into Tanzania and Kenya.

Fortunately, sweatpants and a CU Denver T-shirt were appropriate attire for all of this morning’s tasks including plumbing.

Granny said she’d already called the manager twice about her clogged sink, but he kept blowing her off, so I told her I’d come by and take a look at it.

Having two daughters had never stopped my father from teaching us about how to do all the stuff around the house usually attributed to men. He taught us everything from plumbing to auto mechanics. It’s how I was able to keep the Red Rider on the road for so long.

“Hey, Granny. It’s me, Lennon,” I said, letting myself in, only to find a very large man sitting in her recliner. The recliner that no one was allowed to sit in but Granny.

“Who are you?” I demanded.

The man had shaggy, long blond hair, a beard that begged to have someone’s fingers run through it, and his arms were covered in tattoos. He was wearing a well-worn pair of blue jeans, black leather boots, and would have been wholly intimidating had it not been for the shirt he was wearing.

It was also impossible to ignore that he was very good looking.

“Did the landlord send you?” I asked, thinking he might be the apartment complex’s handy man.

The large man smiled and shook his head. “No.”

He wore a bright pink T-shirt with a picture of me and my sister on the front which read ‘ World’s Bestest Granny. ’ It was three sizes too big for Granny when my sister and I made it for her, but on him, it looked like doll clothing.

“Where did you get that shirt?” I demanded.

“Shirley let me borrow it,” he replied in a syrupy southern drawl.

“Who are you?” I asked again.

“Didn’t you read the shirt?” he asked, far too calmly for my liking.

“What?”

“My shirt,” the man said, pointing to the birthday gift from me and my sister. “I’m the world’s best Granny,” he said with a smile.

“It’s best est ,” I corrected him before cocking my head. “What have you done with my grandmother?”

“Whoa there, it’s okay. I came over to fix Shirley’s backed up kitchen sink drain.

That’s all. The kitchen plumbing is now fully operational, but Shirley’s currently using the latrine due to her own personal plumbing problems. I have a suspicion that the culprit in both cases is a frozen lasagna that had passed its expiration date. But I’m not a doctor.”

“So, you’re a plumber?”

He shook his head and pointed to the shirt again. “No, I’ve explained. I’m the grandma on duty.”

Keeping my eyes on whoever this wolf in Granny’s clothing was, I made my way down the hall towards her room. “Granny?” I called out but got no response. Her hearing wasn’t the greatest in her advanced age, so I tried again, a little louder this time. “Granny? Are you okay?”

“Is that you, Lennon?”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, dear. I’ll be right out.” she called back before adding, “Be nice to my friend.”

Satisfied that Granny hadn’t been killed by the mysterious drifter now sitting in her recliner, I rejoined him in the living room.

“Why are you sitting in Granny’s chair? Let me rephrase that.

How is it that you’re sitting in my Granny’s chair and you’re not dead.

No one is allowed to sit in that recliner. ”

He raised an eyebrow. “Further proof that I am, in fact, the official G.O.D., granny on duty.”

This one was puzzling. For as long as I can remember, Granny’s chair was Granny’s chair.

There had been many of them over the years of course, various makes and models, but whatever chair was deemed ‘her chair,’ shall not be sat upon without express permission from Granny herself.

Her lap, once seated in her chair, was most welcomed, but never a tushy shall touchy when she was away.

Yet, this large, eloquent, quite handsome, tramp of a man looked completely at home seated in Granny’s fully automated, hydraulic lifting, recliner.

“Let’s try this again. Who the hell are you?” I demanded.

“I already told you,” he replied with a sexy smirk. “I really feel like you’re not reading the shirt.”

My fears began to subside. Whoever this guy was, Granny clearly knew he was here, and she seemed okay, so I played back. “You don’t look much like Granny,” I challenged.

“How can you say that?” the drifter said, mocking offense.

Ice blue eyes peered out from behind the tangles of his blond hair. Despite the fact that he needed an appointment with a barber, or perhaps a dog groomer, he was hot. He couldn’t have been older than his early thirties, but his face told a story of a life spent on the road.

I took a step closer to him. “First of all, your eyes don’t look anything like hers. ”

“You’re not used to seeing me without my glasses on, that’s all.”

“Oh, yeah? Then where are your glasses, Granny?”

“Don’t need them anymore. I got Lasik. All the better to see you with,” he said in a smokey tone.

I crossed my arms. “What about your ears? You were half deaf last time I was here and now you don’t seem to be struggling at all.”

He shook his head. “Oh, I was just ignoring you all those times before. I can hear just fine. Better than ever, in fact.”

I took another step towards him, trying to get an even better look without getting too close. His heavy black boots looked like they could tell a thousand stories of their own. “Those are mighty big feet you’ve got there, Granny.”

“The better to spin you around on the dance floor with.”

I let out a laugh. “Is that so? I didn’t know grannies of your age still went out dancing?”

“Friday nights from eight to ten is for line dancin’ only at the Saddle Rack.”

“You go to the Rack for line dancing?” I raised an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay, Granny.” I crossed my arms. “What about the beard? How do you explain that beard?”

“What can I say? Menopause was a bitch. But I’ll tell ya what. Now that it’s all grown in, I think I’m gonna keep it.”

I stifled a laugh. “Okay, okay,” I said. “That all checks out. But my granny definitely wears dentures, and you seem to have quite a healthy and impressive set of chompers in your mouth. What do you say about that?”

“Oh, you mean these?” he asked, bearing pearly whites that couldn’t possibly belong to a vagrant. “These you’ll have to find out for yourself.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“Because they’re all the better to eat you w—”

“Oh, good,” Granny said, entering the room. “I see you’ve met Snarl,” she added, shuffling over to me for a quick hug. “See, Snarly, didn’t I tell you my granddaughter was beautiful?”

“You sure did, Shirley,” Snarl said, standing and taking her tiny hands in his giant paws. “But I have to say, she’s even prettier than you said.”

“Your name is Snarl ?”

He nodded. “That’s right.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “You’re the bass player in a folk-rock band, and Snarl is a nickname given to you by your bandmates after a particularly bad gig in Capitol Hill.”

“Stop teasing, Lennon. That’s why you’re still single,” Granny chided.

“Snarl? As in the verb? To snarl?” I continued.

“It’s not my birth name, but it’s the one I go by.

Besides, it’s not just a verb. It can also be used as a noun,” he replied.

“As in, ‘although she was clearly dressed in the clothes she slept in last night and her hair was in a snarl , Shirley’s granddaughter wasn’t just pretty, she was beautiful. ’”

“I knew the two of you would get along,” Granny said, and I knew right then she’d orchestrated this little meeting. The clogged drain, the whole thing.

I also became very aware of the fact that I looked like I’d just been shot out of a cannon. “Will you excuse me, please?” I asked, before casually bolting to the bathroom.

* * *

Snarl

Well, shit. Pretty was one hell of an understatement. And Lennon wasn’t just beautiful either, she was a full-on five alarm goddamned smoke show .

“She moves quick that girl,” Shirley murmured, reminding me she was in the room. “Always flitting about. Here, there, and everywhere.”

“Reminds me of someone else I know,” I said, helping Shirley back into her chair. “Come and sit down, sweetheart.”

“I think your clothes should be done now,” she said, looking like she was going to get up again.

“Oh, no you don’t. I’ll get ’em,” I said. “You just sit right there and take a load off.”

Shirley’s apartment, unlike mine, had an in-unit washer and dryer, so when I arrived earlier to fix her clog, then subsequently found myself with half a pan of frozen lasagna all over me, she immediately offered to wash my clothing for me. An offer I couldn’t refuse.

I made my way down the hall toward the dryer just as Lennon was coming out of the bathroom.

“Hey there,” I said. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you back there, I was just, uh…teasing. I mean, I didn’t want to freak you out or anything.”

“No, it’s okay,” she replied, clearly avoiding eye contact. Her hair, no longer pulled up into a tattered mess, now fell freely below her shoulders, perfectly framing her angelic face. “I shouldn’t have been rude about your name.”

“And that stuff your grandmother said about you—”

“It’s okay. Granny is always trying to fix me up with someone.”

“Oh, so I shouldn’t feel special then?” I said, feigning offense, but secretly wondering if it was true.

Lennon finally raised her eyes to mine, gave me the slightest smile, and shook her head. “Nope. Sorry. You’re just another unfortunate casualty of Granny’s poor matchmaking.”

That was it . Right then.

The exact moment the hunt was on for me. That single look from Lennon was all it took for me to know that I had to have her. She’d issued a challenge, and I would respond in kind. My next move had to be deliberate yet casual and executed perfectly.

“That’s okay,” I said, opening the doors of the closet which housed the stacked washer/dryer. “I’m just here to get my clothes out of the dryer.”

I slowly took off the loaner shirt I’d been wearing and casually tossed it into the clothes hamper.

That’s when it happened. It was the tiniest little thing.

A blink and you would have missed it kind of deal.

But, as sure as the day is long, Lennon’s mouth opened.

Maybe only by half an inch, but it was enough for me to set my hook.