Something was wrong. Elsbeth jolted awake, her pulse racing, although she could not tell why. Was there someone outside? Or something?
Her mind conjured an image of the night when she looked out of the window, thinking her mother’s ghost had come to visit her. But it hadn’t been a ghost, it had been Philip’s bear, come to bask in her presence. A small smile curved her lips. Had Philip returned?
Had the sound of his truck woken her?
No. There was no sense of him. No familiar prickle on the back of her neck she felt when he was close.
Pushing herself onto one elbow, she looked around the room, which lay in an eerie half-light, too dark for morning. She listened to the familiar creaks and groans of the house, but it too seemed eerily still, as if holding its breath.
She moved to sit up; the sheets tangled around her legs from a night of restless dreams filled with wilting flowers and Philip’s worried face. The digital clock on her nightstand glowed 6:30 AM, but the darkness pressing against the windows suggested a much earlier hour.
Her sense of unease grew as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Then she heard it, a tap on the window, like a pebble being thrown against the glass.
“Who is it?” she whispered, suddenly fully alert as thoughts of ghosts returned.
No, she did not believe in ghosts. But then, she hadn’t believed in shifters until Philip.
Grabbing her robe from the end of the bed, Elsbeth pulled it on as she went to the window. She hesitated, as the sound came again and again in quick succession.
Rain. She pulled back the curtain to reveal a sky that looked like bruised fruit—purples and grays swirling together in ominous clouds that hung low over the distant mountains, obscuring the peaks.
A sudden wind bent the tops of the distant pines, and as she watched, another raindrop hit the glass, then another, until they came in a steady patter.
Philip had been right. The storm he’d sensed was here.
She grabbed her phone from the nightstand and pulled up the weather app, her stomach sinking as she read the updated forecast: severe thunderstorm warning, high winds, possible flash flooding. All the things that could destroy her flowers in a single morning.
No, a single hour!
“Philip,” she whispered to the empty room. As panic bloomed in her chest, she wished he were here. Wished she had not insisted he go.
She should have trusted his instincts. Instead, she had sent him away.
She was alone.
All her hard work, the anniversary flowers, the new plantings, the delicate seedlings. Everything she’d poured her heart and soul into could be ruined if she didn’t act fast.
Why had she insisted he go to that awards ceremony? Pride. Stubbornness. A desire to prove she could manage on her own. Now she faced this threat alone, and the weight of it pressed down on her shoulders, making it hard to breathe.
And then it came. The crushing absence of her mother hit her anew. Mom would have known exactly what to do. Mom would have checked the weather more carefully, prepared in advance, and not been caught unaware like this.
“I need you, Mom,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she let the curtain fall back into place, hiding the coming storm. “I need you both.”
But they were not here. At least not in person. But they were here in spirit. They had both taught her so much, helped her become resilient and courageous.
With no time to wallow in fear or regret, Elsbeth moved quickly to the closet. Her fingers brushed past her own clothes until they found what she was seeking—her mother’s flannel shirt, soft and worn from years of love. She hadn’t touched it since that first night with Philip, when she’d felt brave enough to finally let go. She’d needed it like a child needed a comfort blanket. But now she needed it for strength.
With trembling fingers, she pulled the faded blue flannel over her shoulders, drawing in a deep breath of the faint scent that still clung to the fabric. “Okay, Mom,” she whispered, buttoning it up with determined fingers. “Let’s get to work.”
The storm’s intensity grew as Elsbeth pulled on a pair of jeans. Lightning flashed, illuminating her bedroom in stark white before plunging it back into shadow. Thunder followed almost immediately, rattling the window.
She ran downstairs to the kitchen, but there was no time for her usual morning coffee or breakfast, though her stomach growled in protest. The flowers wouldn’t wait; nature certainly wouldn’t. Elsbeth grabbed her rain jacket and yanked on a pair of mud boots, mentally cataloging everything that needed protection—the hydrangeas for the anniversary, the delicate new rose bushes, the trellises that could be flattened by wind.
Outside, the air felt electric, charged with the coming storm. The wind caught her hair, whipping strands across her face as she assessed the farm with growing dread. Dark clouds raced overhead, and the temperature had dropped significantly since the previous evening.
Elsbeth ran to the shed, hauling out protective tarps, stakes, and twine. Her hands worked mechanically, muscle memory taking over as she covered the most vulnerable beds first. The blue hydrangeas—Hugo and Leanne’s anniversary centerpieces—had to be secured. She worked methodically, driving stakes deep into the soil and covering the precious blooms with clear plastic that would protect without crushing.
Rain fell in earnest now, plastering her hair to her scalp. Her mother’s flannel grew damp beneath the inadequate protection of her rain gear, but Elsbeth barely noticed. Her chest tightened with each gust of wind, fear gripping her as she imagined all her hard work, all her mother’s dreams, washed away in a single storm.
“Please,” she whispered, not sure who she was talking to—her mother, the universe, or the storm itself. “Please don’t take this from me.”
She moved to the rose trellises next, lowering them closer to the ground where they’d have less resistance against the wind. The rain came harder now, making the ground slippery beneath her boots. Her fingers grew numb with cold and dampness as she tied down the last of the protective coverings.
A sudden, powerful gust caught the edge of a tarp she’d just secured over a bed of bachelor’s buttons. It ripped free from her hands, flapping wildly like a wounded bird.
“No!” Elsbeth cried, lunging after it. The precious flowers beneath would be pummeled by the intensifying rain without protection. She chased the escaping tarp across the muddy ground, stretching out her fingers to grasp the corner…
Strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind, steadying her just as she reached for the tarp. For a moment, she thought she might have imagined it…wished him into existence through sheer desperation. But the solid warmth against her back was unmistakably real.
“You’re here,” she whispered, leaning back against the familiar chest, relief flooding through her as Philip’s scent enveloped her, more comforting than her mother’s shirt could ever be.
Philip turned her in his arms and kissed her, the rain streaming down both their faces. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with worry, reflecting the storm clouds above.
“I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to be here,” he said, brushing wet hair from her face. “When I told Kris, he told me to turn around, to trust my instincts—that my mate was more important than any award.”
A sob of relief caught in Elsbeth’s throat as she pressed her face against his chest. “I was so scared,” she admitted. “Everything could have been ruined.”
“No, you have everything under control,” Philip said firmly. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”
Together, they moved with practiced efficiency, securing what Elsbeth had already done and tackling what remained. The wind howled around them, and the rain fell in sheets, but Elsbeth felt her fear receding with each task they completed. Philip’s presence was like an anchor, keeping her steady against the storm’s fury.
“Shouldn’t you be at the vineyard?” she asked as they wrestled with a particularly stubborn tarp, having to shout to be heard over the wind. “What about your family’s crops?”
“They have everything under control there,” Philip called back. “Dad and my brothers know what to do. You’re my priority.”
As the rain grew heavier and the wind more violent, they worked frantically to dig a trench along the edge of the flower beds, creating a channel to direct the water away from the newly planted sections. Mud splattered their clothes and faces as they dug, but neither complained. Elsbeth’s hands blistered, and her back ached, but she pushed through the pain, drawing strength from Philip working steadily beside her.
Finally, when they had done all they could, Philip caught her hand. “That’s enough!” he shouted over the howling wind. “We need to get inside!”
Hand in hand, they ran toward the farmhouse, the rain pelting them mercilessly. They burst through the door and slammed it shut behind them, cutting off the storm’s roar and plunging them into sudden, relative quiet. They stood in the entryway, dripping puddles onto the wooden floor, breathing hard from exertion and adrenaline.
Elsbeth looked up at Philip, his face streaked with mud and rain, his clothes soaked through, and felt a surge of love so powerful it nearly brought her to her knees.
“You came back for me,” she whispered, her voice raw with emotion.
“Always,” Philip murmured, his voice a deep rumble against her ear.
She wrapped her arms around him tightly, their soaked clothes creating small puddles beneath them on the wooden floor. For a moment, they simply held each other, the storm’s fury muted by the sturdy farmhouse walls.
Philip stroked her back through the sodden fabric. “As much as I enjoy holding you, we need to get out of these wet clothes before we catch our death.”
Elsbeth nodded, reluctantly pulling away. She peeled off her rain jacket first, hanging it carefully on the hook by the door. The rest of her sodden garments followed—muddy jeans, her mother’s flannel shirt now heavy with rain, socks that squelched as she removed them. She gathered everything into her arms and made her way to the laundry room, where she deposited the wet pile into the washing machine.
Before closing the lid, she paused, taking her mother’s shirt in her hands one more time. She squeezed it gently, watching water trickle between her fingers. Thank you, Mom, she thought, a silent prayer of gratitude for the strength she’d found today. She knew it hadn’t just been the shirt—it had been everything her mother had taught her, everything she’d instilled in her daughter.
As Elsbeth turned, clad only in her plain cotton bra and panties, a profound realization washed over her. She wasn’t alone. She would never be truly alone again. The two people she loved most—her mother in spirit and Philip in flesh—would always be with her, guiding her, supporting her, loving her.
Tears pricked at her eyes, blurring her vision as she stepped back into the entryway where Philip stood in nothing but his boxer briefs, his powerful body glistening with lingering raindrops.
His expression immediately shifted to concern. “Hey,” he said softly, crossing to her in two long strides. “It’ll be okay. Whatever the storm damages, we’ll fix it together. I promise.”
“These are happy tears,” she whispered, surprised by the emotion overwhelming her.
“Oh,” Philip said, his eyebrows rising in surprise as thunder crashed outside, punctuating the moment. Through the windows, lightning illuminated the world in stark flashes, but inside, Elsbeth had never felt more secure.
She moved to him, taking his large hand in both of hers. “You were right when you told me I’m never alone. I get it now.”
Philip cupped her face with his free hand, his thumb brushing away a tear. He leaned down and kissed her, a gentle press of lips that deepened as she responded. Elsbeth pressed herself against him, seeking his warmth as a shiver ran through her chilled body.
Without warning, Philip bent and swept her into his arms. “You should have a hot shower before you freeze,” he said, carrying her toward the stairs.
In the bathroom, he set her down carefully on the bath mat and reached to turn on the shower, adjusting the temperature until steam began to rise. Elsbeth watched him, love and desire mingling in her chest as the room filled with steam.
She stepped into the shower, the hot water cascading over her skin, washing away mud and cold. “Aren’t you going to join me?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at him.
A slow smile spread across Philip’s face as he removed his underwear and stepped in behind her. The water streamed over both of them, hot against her chilled skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat that ignited inside her when his hands settled on her waist.
Elsbeth turned to face him, tilting her head back to meet his gaze. The desire she saw there made her breath catch. With sudden boldness, she placed her hands on his shoulders.
“Kneel for me,” she whispered.
Philip tilted his head questioningly for a moment before understanding dawned in his eyes. His smile turned wolfish as he lowered himself before her, his large hands gently inching her knees apart. His tongue traced over her most sensitive flesh, teasing the bundle of nerves that made her gasp.
When he slipped a finger inside her, stroking her inner walls with practiced precision, Elsbeth’s head fell back against the shower wall. His tongue continued its sweet torture while he added a second finger, stretching her deliciously. She curled her fingers into his wet hair, anchoring herself as pleasure built inside her. Her hips circled, seeking more, seeking release.
Then she came, crying out his name as waves of pleasure crashed through her. Philip did not relent, as his mouth and fingers worked in tandem to take her to new heights.
As the aftershocks subsided, Philip rose to his full height, water streaming down his powerful body. He kissed her deeply, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her breasts crushed against his chest.
Outside, the storm continued to rage, but within these walls, within his arms, Elsbeth had never felt safer.