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A MATE FOR JACKSON: BAD
ALPHA DADS

A TRUE MATES STANDALONE

ALICIA MONTGOMERY
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales,
and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a
fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual
events is purely coincidental.

C opyright © 2018 A licia M ontgomery

E dited by L a V erne C lark

A ll rights reserved .
 For Jannie

My rock, my support, my friend

Thanks for keeping me sane
Here’s to the future

#
Love
Laughter
No regrets
Sunny days ahead

Obrigado!
ALSO BY ALICIA MONTGOMERY

T he T rue M ates S eries

Fated Mates
Blood Moon
Romancing the Alpha
Witch’s Mate
Taming the Beast
Tempted by the Wolf

T he L one W olf D efenders S eries

Killian’s Secret
Loving Quinn
All for Connor

T he T rue M ates S tandalone N ovels

Holly Jolly Lycan Christmas
A Mate for Jackson: Bad Alpha Dads

T he B lackstone M ountain S eries

The Blackstone Dragon Heir
The Blackstone Bad Dragon
The Blackstone Bear
The Blackstone Wolf
The Blackstone Lion
The Blackstone She-Wolf
The Blackstone She-Bear
The Blackstone She-Dragon
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 ABOUT THE TRUE MATES SERIES

This book, A Mate for Jackson, is a complete standalone romance,

but takes place in the True Mates Universe.

The books in the main series can also be read by themselves, but
meant to be enjoyed as a series, as characters from the previous
books appear in the next book.

The True Mates universe is set in a world where wolf shifters (called
Lycans) live secretly among humans. The Lycans live in different
clans with an Alpha as their leader.

It’s not necessary to read them all to enjoy this Bad Alpha Dad book,
but if you would like to start from the beginning, I recommend you
begin with Fated Mates.
 CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Preview: All for Connor
Preview: Fated Mates
About Bad Alpha Dads
Other books by Alicia Montgomery
 1

A FEW WEEKS AGO …

J ackson Forrest slammed his foot on the brake, causing his

truck to come to a screeching stop. He normally didn’t treat
his Dolly this way, but today was an exception.
Well, not exactly; it was the same shit, different day. But,
just like shit that didn’t get cleaned, it could pile up, making it a
pretty fucking awful day.
His fingers gripped the wheel so tight he could hear the plastic
creaking under his hand.
Control yourself. He’s just a boy.
His inner wolf, that animal all Lycans shared with their bodies,
was in conflict. On one hand, this was their cub, their blood. The
child they had nurtured and raised. But on the other hand, Jackson
was pissed. Sick and tired of his son’s out-of-control behavior.
“You learned your lesson yet, boy?” He looked up at the rearview
mirror, at the green eyes so much like his own. In fact, except for his
platinum blond hair, nine-year-old Austin was his spitting image.
Even down to the scowl on his face.
“Yeah, yeah,” came the sour reply.
“And what did you learn?”
“That Jimmy Presley is a fucking rat that can’t be trusted.”
“Austin Campbell Forrest, watch your mouth!” Jackson whipped
around to look his son straight in the eye. “What did I tell ya about
cussing?”
“You do it all the time!” Austin accused.
 “That’s because I’m an adult.” Jackson scrubbed his hand down
his face. This shit was starting to get old. Hell, he was feeling
ancient, at least when it came to his son. “Why the hell did you
break into the teacher’s lounge?”
Austin shrugged. “I dunno. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Standard Austin answer. “You’re grounded.”
“Yeah, yeah. Can I go now?”
“For a month.”
“A month?” Austin’s eyes went wide and his mouth twisted. “Why
the hell—”
“You wanna make it two?”
Austin sank back into the seat. “Fine. I—” His head swung
around as a loud sound rumbled from behind. A black truck identical
to Jackson’s stopped right beside them. “Aunt Evie and Uncle Connor
are here?”
“Yeah, it was a surprise trip.” His brother and sister-in-law, along
with their infant son, Cliff, lived in New York, a couple of hours drive
from the Shenandoah Valley. “They’re here for Grams’ birthday.”
“Yes!” Austin raised a fist in the air. “Are we going to have a
party? Or a camping trip? Or—”
“Well, we—that’s Grams, Aunt Evie, Uncle Conner, and Cliff, and
everyone else—will be celebrating with a big barbecue by the pond.
You’ll be at home.”
“What?” The boy exclaimed. “You can’t stop me from going to
Grams’ birthday!”
He wagged a finger at his son. “Grounded, remember?”
“This is so unfair!”
Jackson gritted his teeth to stop the words that wanted to come
out of his mouth. Instead, he yanked the door open, stepped up,
and walked over to the other side of his truck. His son was learning
a valuable lesson. Life wasn’t fair. And that fact was cemented even
more as he glanced at who was coming out of the other truck.
It was still strange, after all these months, looking at the man
who was the exact mirror image of himself. Same height, build, face,
and both sported tattoos all over their body. Identical twins, though
they had only met last year. Connor had been taken away from their
family when he was an infant. The man who’d destroyed their lives
had wanted to steal both boys, but ended up with only one. His
brother still bore the scars from his cruel upbringing, and not just
the physical one that ran down his eye and cheek.
Meanwhile, Jackson grew up with a mother, surrounded by family
and other Lycans, and was now Alpha of his own clan. No, life
certainly wasn’t fair.
“How’s it going?” he asked Connor, holding out his hand. “How
was the drive?”
Connor grasped it and squeezed. “Long. But glad to finally be
here.”
Instead of letting go, Jackson pulled him in for a hug. For once,
Connor didn’t stiffen, though still didn’t quite relax either. Progress.
His inner wolf was oddly calm, recognizing its brother’s scent and
presence.
When Connor first showed up on their doorstep, Jackson’s wolf
instantly went on the defense. It knew—Connor’s wolf was not right.
But also, it recognized that the man standing outside their porch was
the blood of their blood. And for Lycans, that meant more than
anything in the world.
“Connor, a little help please?” came the feminine voice from the
other side of the truck.
His twin pulled away and gave him a sheepish look. “’Scuse me.”
He walked over to his wife and mate, Evie, who was struggling with
a car seat. Connor easily took it from her.
“Thanks.” She pulled out the diaper bag from the back seat, and
as she swung it around her shoulder, Connor leaned down and gave
her a kiss on the mouth. She gave a girlish giggle when he finished.
“Connor.” She gave him a playful swipe on the arm, which only
earned her another kiss.
Jackson pushed down the envy churning in his stomach and told
his whining wolf to quiet down. He was happy his brother had found
love, and in his True Mate no less. The one his soul was destined for.
Maybe life wasn’t fair, but there were other ways that the scales
tipped.
 He cleared his throat. “Momma will be happier than a clam when
she sees the three of you.”
“It was a great idea,” Evie said as she walked over to give him a
hug. “Thanks for inviting us.”
Jackson returned it, but quickly released his sister-in-law when
he saw Connor tense. “You know you can come over anytime, no
need for invites or any of that formal stuff.” Lycans were very
territorial, and if a Lycan from one clan wanted to visit another, they
had to get permission from the Alpha.
Technically, Connor was part of the New York clan, though his
brother was previously a Lone Wolf, a Lycan with no clan. That had
changed last year when he decided to pledge to the Alpha of New
York, Grant Anderson. Connor was born to the Shenandoah clan and
could have pledged to them, but Jackson didn’t begrudge him that
choice; after all, Evie’s life and career as a Broadway actress was in
New York and so was the rest of Connor’s adoptive family, the ones
who had rescued him and gave him a home after the ordeal he went
through.
“Where is Lily?” Evie asked. “And Austin?”
“Momma’s probably out checking on the new folk. She’ll be home
within the hour.” Jackson stepped over to his truck and yanked the
backseat door open. “Austin,” he said. “Come out here and say hello.
Then march straight to your room.”
Austin’s scowl deepened, but he did as he was told, unbuckling
his seat belt and hopping down. He trudged over to Evie, wrapped
his arms around her waist and murmured something, then looked
over to his uncle.
Connor sighed and dropped to Austin’s height. “How’re you, kid?”
“Fine. I guess.” He looked over at the small bundle in the carrier
in Connor’s hand. “Wow, he’s gettin’ big, huh?”
Connor snorted. “Babies tend to do that.”
“Do you still think babies are stupid?” Evie asked.
The boy sniffed. “Not Cliff. He’s my cousin. And he’s not a girl.”
“Austin,” Jackson warned.
Evie laughed. “Well, maybe the next one’ll be a girl.”
Jackson raised a brow. “Is there a next one?”
 “No.” But she blushed as she looked at Connor. “We’ll see.”
“Whatever you want, Evie,” he said. “I know you still got plans.
Things you wanna do. We can wait.”
Jackson’s lips pulled into a thin line. The scales definitely did tip
in favor of his brother. And it was damned time, considering the hell
Connor had been through before he met Evie.
“Maybe you’ll get a little sister instead, Austin.” Evie had that
mischievous look on her face.
“Ew!” Austin crossed his small arms over his chest and pouted.
“I’m puttin’ my foot down, Pa. No sister. Or brother. Ever.”
“Maybe I should get you a little brother or sister, serves you
right,” Jackson bit back, then shook his head. No, there would be no
mate and no other kids. True love and True Mates were a rare thing,
and Jackson didn’t have time to go looking for either. He was plenty
occupied with being Alpha, running the ranch, and raising Austin.
Whenever the need for female companionship struck, he could
always run down to the dive bar in town.
“Aww, Pa! No.”
“Now go to your room,” Jackson ordered. “And stay there until
dinner.”
“Fine.” Austin turned on his heel and stomped—very loudly—
toward the house.
As Jackson let out a sigh, Evie gave him a sympathetic pat on the
arm. “It’s just a phase. He’ll grow out of it.”
“I sure hope so.” This phase had been going on for years, ever
since Austin could walk and talk. Sometimes he wondered, if Arlene
had stayed, maybe things would be different. But Austin’s biological
mother had walked away from them.
They weren’t in a serious relationship or anything, not at first. He
and Arlene hooked up every now and then; she was convenient, was
there when he was feeling horny, and never demanded anything
more than he could give.
Jackson had been ecstatic when he found out she was pregnant
and she confirmed it was his. After all, Lycans had a hard time
conceiving and every pup born was a joy to their kind. He married
her right away. Big mistake. They fought all the time, and one day,
she just served him with divorce papers. Said the mother thing
wasn’t working out for her. Last he heard, she was shacking up with
the Beta of some clan in Texas. Good riddance. Now she was some
other guy’s problem.
“Jackson? Did you hear what I said?” Evie’s voice cut through his
muddled thoughts.
“Huh?”
“I said, could we head up to our room and get refreshed? I’d love
to take a shower before Lily comes home.”
He scratched his head. “Sorry ’bout that. Of course.” Thoughts of
the past forgotten, he motioned to the house. “Everything’s ready.
And Momma doesn’t suspect a thing, so she’ll be mighty surprised.”

“It really is great having you here,” Lily Forrest said as she cuddled
little Cliff against her chest. “I was disappointed when Jackson said
you weren’t going to come to the party.” She gave sly looks to her
sons.
“We wanted it to be a surprise.” Jackson winked at Evie and
Connor.
Evie took a sip of her coffee. “We haven’t seen you since you
came over when Cliff was born. And we haven’t visited since before
we bought the house.”
“How are things around here?” Connor asked.
“All good,” Jackson answered. “Busy. But good.”
“More than good,” Lily interjected. “Especially with Grant
Anderson and Sebastian Creed sending those Lycans here for their
rehab.”
“The Alpha and Creed are happy with the results so far,” Connor
said.
“We have you to thank, for putting in a good word,” Jackson
replied.
Most of the Lycans from the Shenandoah clan were notoriously
difficult—a lot of them had aggressive wolves and would have ended
up cast out of any other clan or worse, which is why they chose to
live in isolation. However, the steady work and maybe the freedom
to shift and roam as they pleased somehow turned out to be a good
thing for them, allowing them to lead normal lives.
When Grant Anderson, Alpha of New York, and Sebastian Creed,
Connor’s boss, had found out about this, they asked Jackson to take
on a few of their charges—wolves who had been taken and
brainwashed by their enemies, the Mages—to see if they could help
them out. Jackson agreed and took on three of the broken Lycans,
putting them to work on the ranch and helping them work through
their violent tendencies. In less than three months, their aggression
levels went down and two of them were reunited with their families,
while one even stayed behind to work with the Shenandoah clan.
The program had been so successful that they now regularly took
on more “clients” from the New York clan. It was good money,
adding to the Shenandoah clan’s struggling bottom line and kept
them busy the last year.
“You do great work,” Connor said.
Jackson nodded. “We’re glad to help.” And he really was. Their
clan had been isolated for so long, it was nice to be able to meet
other Lycans and Alphas too.
“Are they sending any more new people?” Evie asked.
“Not at the moment. Though Grant wanted to talk to me about
doing corporate-type retreats for his Lycan employees.”
“I hear those things are big now,” Lily said. “Getting in touch with
nature and all that.”
Connor scowled. “You mean, that hipster, feel good, touchy-feely,
bullcrap?”
Evie chuckled. “Connor hates hipsters. They take up too much
time ordering at his favorite coffee shop.”
“Why the hell do you need more than one second to order a cup
of coffee?” Connor grunted. “Fair trade, soy milk, gluten-free, what a
load of shit. Coffee. Black. That’s all you need.”
Jackson raised his mug. “I hear ya, bro.” He took a sip of the hot
liquid. “But, Grant’s idea might be worth a try. I don’t know how you
city Lycans stand it, not being able to just shift whenever you want.”
 “You get used to it, I suppose,” Lily said. “But yet, it’s a shame
you have to hide all the time.”
“It might be good for these city slickers to get outside. Get them
in touch with their Lycan sides again, maybe take them out for a big
camping trip under the stars. Hell, we’ll do some trust falls and
team-building exercises if that’s what Grant wants.” It seemed easy
enough. Rehabbing the broken wolves was challenging. A couple of
corporate pencil pushers looking for an adventure and maybe a run
in their wolf form? He could handle that with one hand tied behind
him.
“It’ll certainly bring more excitement around here, not to mention
money,” Lily added.
“Momma,” Connor began, “if you need money—”
“Oh hush, Connor,” Lily interrupted, making Cliff stir in her arms.
She cooed at him and rocked him against her chest. “We’re doing
fine, especially with what the last batch of rehabbers brought in.”
“They were the worst bunch yet, so Creed put in a big bonus,”
Jackson added. “We’re good, really we are. And we’re glad to help.”
He didn’t add, of course, that it was his way of making up for
Connor. For being the one who had escaped that horrible fate.
Still, Connor had not held it against him and Lily never made him
feel less loved, but it kept Jackson awake at night. What if he’d been
the one who was taken away to be raised by monsters and forced to
fight in a cage since he was a teen?
A loud bang came from upstairs followed by a string of muffled
curses, then a series of loud thuds. Jackson sighed. Austin had come
down to eat dinner, then been promptly sent back upstairs without
any dessert.
Lily handed Cliff to Connor. “I’ll go check on him.”
“No, Momma, sit down and enjoy your coffee,” Jackson said.
“He’s just looking for attention.”
“What he’s lookin’ for is an ass-whooping,” Connor added.
Jackson couldn’t agree more, but that just wasn’t his way.
Though maybe if it had been he wouldn’t be in this situation.
“Connor,” Evie admonished. “Would you hurt Cliff?”
 “What? Of course not,” Connor said. “But then again, he ain’t
never tried to change the grades on his report card. Or burn down a
high school. Or,” he turned to Jackson, “what did he do again this
time?”
“Break into the teacher’s lounge.” Jackson sighed. “Maybe Austin
does need a stronger hand.”
“What Austin needs is a gentler hand,” Lily countered.
“A what?” This time, both Connor and Jackson said it together.
“I think what Lily is trying to say,” Evie began, “is Austin needs a
mom.”
“Oh no.” Jackson put up his hand. “No way. Uh-uh.” He got up,
dropping his napkin on the table.
“C’mon, Jackson, would it be so bad?” Lily said. “Austin needs
someone to take care of him. A female influence.”
“He’s got you, Momma,” he pointed out.
Lily laughed. “I’m his grandmother. It’s my job to spoil him and
give him everything he wants. Only a mother can give him that ‘I’m
disappointed in you’ look that will make him think twice of doing
anything bad.”
“Not to mention, a wife might do you good, too,” Evie said in a
teasing voice. “Someone to share your troubles with.”
“Ha!” Now they really were delusional. No way was he getting
married again. It just wasn’t worth it, not after what happened with
Arlene. “I think I hear … the cows mooing.” Pathetic excuse, but he
needed to get out of there. “‘Night everyone, I’ll see you all
tomorrow. I’ll be out early getting supplies for the party.”
Jackson headed out the door, not even giving them a chance to
stop him. He left the kitchen–dining room and headed to the front
door, stepping out onto the wraparound porch.
The air was cool this time of the year, signs that winter was
behind them and that spring was here. It was his favorite time of the
year—a new beginning. And he wished there was such a thing in life.
A new beginning. A do-over.
Not that he would ever wish Austin was never born. Of course
not; he loved his son. He was just a failure as a father and he knew
it. But what was he supposed to do? He had so many
responsibilities, he couldn’t juggle them all.
“You okay?”
Jackson wasn’t even surprised that he didn’t notice Connor had
followed him. He moved silently, even for a man of his size. “Yeah,”
he answered back, not bothering to turn around to look at his
brother. “Can you believe it? Me with a wife?”
“Can you believe me with a wife? And a son?”
Jackson spat on the porch, a move that his momma hated. “Not
you too.” He turned around. “Are you gonna give me a lecture about
finding a mom for Austin?”
“Me? Give a lecture?” Connor shrugged. “That boy doesn’t need
a mother.”
“Glad you agree with me.”
“But maybe what you need is a mate.”
“Ha! It’ll be easier to find a mother for my little hell-raiser.
Besides,” he glanced back at the house. “What you got with Evie?
One in a million.”
“You would think so,” Connor said. “But I’ve seen stranger
things.” He placed a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “Also, you know
that Momma and Evie are in there plotting right now.”
Jackson let out an audible groan. “I don’t know where they
would even find any woman who would date me. The few females in
our clan already know what they’re in for with Austin which is why
none of them would even touch me, and I’m not ready to bring a
human into the clan.” Lycans were mostly unknown to the rest of the
world, save for a few who were considered Alliance families. And of
course, with the lack of available Lycan mates, many of their kind
married humans.
Connor shook his head. “I don’t envy you right now.”
“I don’t envy me right now either.” Jackson rubbed a palm down
his face. “Let them try. I doubt they’d find anyone who would be
interested in me.” His wolf, which had been quiet and calm most of
the night, let out a whine. Oh, he knew what it wanted; whenever
they were around Evie and Connor, it had longed for what they had
—love, companionship, and more pups. It was like that damned
biological clock women supposedly had, but this one had teeth and
claws instead of a ticking hand.
“You never know,” Connor said.
“You too?” he accused.
Connor chuckled—a rare sight. “I dunno. When women put their
minds to something …”
“They can try.”
Jackson looked out at the rolling hills of the Shenandoah Valley
and the sun setting behind them, bathing everything in a golden
light. He should be content, with everything he had. A clan. A
thriving ranch. His brother back after being cruelly taken away from
them. And yes, even Austin. Despite what the kid put him through—
and what he suspected he would be put through as the boy grew
into his teenage years—he had everything he needed and wanted
right now. A wife would just be another monkey wrench that would
turn his world upside down.
 2

J ordan Matsumoto was the first person to enter the lab on the
thirty-third floor at the Fenrir Corporation Headquarters
every weekday at seven thirty in the morning. Usually, she
was also the last to leave, which served her just fine.
Flipping on the lights, Jordan walked over to her station in the far
corner and slung her messenger bag on the back of the chair. She
reached for the gallon squirt bottle of alcohol gel sanitizer on her
desk and gave it two healthy squeezes. The subway was filthy after
all. Germs. Yuck.
The antiseptic smell was acrid and burning, especially to her
sensitive Lycan senses. She could practically see her inner wolf
cowering and covering its nose up with its paws, but ignored it, like
she always did. The strong alcohol scent gave her a sense of relief
as she imagined the germs on her skin screaming as they died. She
squirted more on a tissue and wiped it over her workstation.
Die, germs die! Ha ha!
Satisfied with the level of cleanliness around her, she sat down
and turned her computer on, listening to the fans whirring to life as
her screen lit up. Immediately, she opened the program she had
been working on, ignoring the various pings and dings of her email
and the Fenrir Corporation intranet messaging system as her
computer connected to the network. They could wait. Other people
could always wait. But science couldn’t.
 Growing up in the San Francisco Lycan clan, the only thing she
wanted to do was become a scientist. She went to school, got good
grades, graduated top of her class and went to Berkeley on a
scholarship where she got her Bachelor’s in Biochemistry. She was
two years into her research grad classes when she got the call of a
lifetime.
Dr. Jade Creed—yes, the Dr. Jade Creed, genius Lycan scientist
who held two PhDs at the age of twenty—was looking for a new
research assistant. Specifically, a Lycan research assistant, to join
her team in New York where they studied all things related to magic
and science.
It was her cousin and Alpha, Liam Henney, who called Jordan
personally. Would she be able to leave her current position and
move to New York right away? Hells yeah. Not only was Dr. Creed
one of her idols and possibly lady crushes, but the chance to work
with her was a dream come true.
And it was a dream, working alongside Dr. Creed. She tried to
play it cool, of course, but she couldn’t help but gush and fangirl at
her idol the first day she walked into the lab. And every day, she
happily skipped into work, looking forward to be working with a
genius. Her coworkers thought her weird and avoided her, but that
was fine with Jordan. She never did learn to play with others, and
she was too damned old at twenty-six to start now.
Another hour passed and Jordan busied herself, walking around
the lab and checking on the various experiments in the stations, and
finishing up some tasks she had left for today—cleaning out some
supplies, running the centrifuge, making sure the charts were up-to-
date. When she was satisfied with her work, she went back to her
desk. More messages had piled up, and she ignored them. She also
heard a sound—was that a rattling—from somewhere in the lab. The
hairs on the back of her neck raised and her inner wolf whined at
her. She ignored it, of course. Like she always did. Her wolf had no
place in science.
“Hello? Jordan, did you hear what I said?”
Jordan raised her head from the screen and looked up at the
frowning face of her boss. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in, Dr.
Creed. Did you need something?”
Jade Creed sighed and rubbed a hand on her temple. “I asked if
you had those samples ready for me. The one we put in yesterday?”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” Jordan said in a smug voice. She
stood up and wiped her hands down her lab coat. “Actually, I took
them out of the UV chamber and put them into the centrifuge.” She
nodded over to the machine, a mere six feet away to their right.
Dr. Creed’s eyes went wide. “You what?”
“I said I put them in the—”
But Jordan didn’t get to finish her sentence. A loud bang filled
the air and everything went black.

When Jordan’s eyes fluttered open, the first thing she felt was the
shot of pain down her side. “Sonofa—”
“You’re awake.”
Her vision was blurry and she had to blink a few times. When the
two indistinct shapes in front of her merged into one, she knew her
vision had returned to normal. “Dr. Creed? What—ow!” This time,
the pain wasn’t as bad, though she could feel the bones and skin
knitting back together. It was an uncomfortable sensation, like an
itch she couldn’t scratch.
“Stay down, Jordan,” Dr. Creed said, pushing her back on the
scratchy sheets.
Jordan looked around her, at the white walls, the harsh overhead
lighting, and the metal-framed bed she was lying on. She must have
been in the infirmary at Fenrir. “What happened?” She raised her
arms, eyes widening as realized they were covered in bandages.
“The last thing I remember was that we were standing in the lab
and—”
“A big explosion?” Dr. Creed finished. “When the centrifuge blew
up?”
“B-b-blew up?” That explained why she had blacked out and why
her body currently felt like some bizarre arts and crafts project and
Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein had a love child. If she had been
human, she would be in the hospital for weeks, if she survived at all.
Of course, that didn’t explain why Dr. Creed, who had been standing
right in front of her during the explosion, didn’t even have a scratch
on her. “Er, are you all right, Dr. Creed?”
The other woman put her hands on her hips. “I’m fine. Did you
not read the emails? Or talk to the other lab assistants?”
“Huh?”
Dr. Creed sighed. “I sent out three emails that no one was to use
the centrifuge today. It was going to be picked up for repairs.”
“I-I-I must have missed it.” Shit. Oh, God. Someone could have
been hurt. No, wait, someone had been hurt. Namely, her. “I’m
sorry. I mean, I take full responsibility.” Her voice broke. Dr. Creed
was going to fire her. Or worse.
“Jade, what the hell happened?”
The voice was gruff and made the hairs on the back of her neck
raise. She gripped the paper-thin sheet in her hands, her knuckles
growing white as the air in the room grew thick.
Yup. Definitely worse. Her day really was turning to shit.
Sebastian Creed, husband and mate to her boss and as it happens,
the only known dragon shifter in the world, stood in the doorway, his
face glowering.
“I’m fine, Sebastian,” Dr. Creed turned around to reassure her
mate. “It’s all fine.”
Creed’s steps thundered as he went over to his mate and pulled
her in for a tight hug. “Fine?” he asked, his rough voice sending a
chill down Jordan’s spine. “I had to hear from Meredith that there
was an explosion in the lab and you tell me everything is fine?” The
air in the lab was choking now, and Jordan swore she could smell
sulfur.
Dr. Creed pulled away from him and spread her arms. “As you
can see, I’m unhurt. Not a scratch on me.”
“How the hell did that happen, anyway?” Jordan slapped a hand
over her mouth when the words just spilled out. But she couldn’t
help herself. “What the heck is going on?”
 Creed’s eyes flashed gold for a second before returning to its
normal color. Steel gray eyes pierced right into hers and looked
down at the bandages on her arms. Then, his head swung over to
his wife. “Jade? Are you …?”
Dr. Creed’s pretty face lit up. “Yes.”
Creed let out a whoop and lifted his mate into his arms, pulling
her in for a passionate kiss. “Darlin’, I’m so fucking happy right now.
I don’t even care what happened.”
The mood in the room lightened, and Jordan felt like she could
breathe again. “Uhm, could someone explain what’s going on?”
The lovers pulled apart and Dr. Creed cleared her throat
delicately, the blush on her cheeks deepening. “Sebastian, why don’t
you pick up Dee from the day care and we can all go home for
lunch? I need to take care of a few things first, though.”
“Whatever you want, darlin’. I’ll meet you at the car.” He planted
a firm kiss on her lips before he turned and walked out the door.
Once the door closed behind them, Dr. Creed turned to Jordan.
“You’re extremely lucky that I happen to be pregnant at the
moment.”
“Oh.” She had heard about this phenomenon but had never
actually seen it for herself. Whenever a True Mate female, Lycan or
human, was pregnant, she was invulnerable to any kind of harm.
While it might take a regular Lycan like Jordan another few hours or
days to recover fully from injuries, all of Dr. Creed’s wounds would
have healed in an instant. “Thank God, then.”
“Indeed.” Dr. Creed took a deep breath and walked over to her.
“Jordan, you know you’re a brilliant scientist and a hard worker.”
“I am?” Of course she knew that, but hearing it from Dr. Creed
made her giddy.
“Yes. In fact, I see a bit of myself in you.” She crossed her arms
over her chest. “Maybe a bit too much.”
Dr. Creed didn’t seem happy at the comparison and Jordan’s
heart dropped into her stomach. “Am I fired?”
“I really should let you go,” Dr. Creed began. “You refuse to work
with your coworkers, or even listen to their opinions.”
 “Science isn’t about opinions,” Jordan retorted with an indignant
sniff.
“What I’m saying is that you can’t seem to play nice with other
people. It’s not just about what happened today. The other
researchers raised their concerns about you. You’re always defying
protocol and procedure. And you never consult with anyone else,
even when I ask you to. And I can’t have that here.”
Jordan always knew she was different. Even her wolf was … odd.
She wasn’t like all the other Lycan children growing up. They all
loved shifting, being outdoors, playing and roughhousing, while
Jordan preferred to stay home and read books or watch
documentaries. Wolves were supposed to be social creatures, but
she preferred her own company. And frankly, other people were
idiots. “I’ll pack my things then, as soon as I’m—”
She held her hand up. “No, Jordan, that’s not what I meant.”
“It’s not?” Now she was confused again.
Dr. Creed shook her head. “I don’t want to lose you. Frankly, I
can’t afford to. Do you know how many Lycans specialize in
biochemistry?”
“Not a lot?”
“Two, Jordan,” Dr Creed said. “Me and you.”
“Oh.” Good. She was needed around here, then.
“But I can’t risk my lab and the lives of the people around us. So,
I’m going to put you in time-out.”
“Time-out?” What was Dr. Creed talking about?
A determined look crossed her boss’ face. “You’re going away for
a while.”
“I have to take a vacation?” Oh, God, she hated vacations. It
didn’t matter where. Sand from the beach always got everywhere,
as did dirt in the mountains. Cities were too dirty and noisy, and
forget the country—her allergies would blow up.
“No, Jordan, I’m sending you on a special retreat,” Dr. Creed said.
“I just heard about it from Sebastian. A new program the Alpha is
starting with another clan. In West Virginia.”
“West Virginia? Er, will it be at a hotel or conference center?” Oh,
God, please say it’s going to be at a nice, air-conditioned luxury
resort.
Dr. Creed shook her head. “I’m afraid not. In fact, it’s all going to
be done outdoors.”
“I can’t go,” she stated flatly. “I’m deathly allergic.”
“To what?”
“To everything?”
Dr. Creed chortled. “Excuse me? You’re a Lycan. We’re not
allergic to anything. Especially not the outdoors.”
“I can give you a doctor’s note. In fact, I’ll give you six doctor’s
notes.” Just the thought of being in the outdoors made her want to
break out in hives. And then her chest started to hurt. “And I have
asthma.”
“You’re joking!” Dr. Creed said in an incredulous voice. “Jordan,
you’re being silly. Stop it.”
“I swear, it’s true.” Her parents had brought her to a dozen Lycan
and human doctors when she was growing up. Most of the Lycan
doctors said it was psychosomatic and she would grow out of it. Her
human doctors found nothing wrong with her—or so they said—but
the medicines they prescribed seem to work on her. All her doctors
seemed to think it was psychosomatic, but they weren’t the ones
who felt the symptoms.
“Well, you’re just going to have to suck it up and bring all the
medication you can carry. Because you’re going and that’s final.”
“You can’t make me.”
She ignored Jordan’s protests. “You’ll be paid the entire time, of
course, plus if you finish this program,” she lowered her voice, “I
won’t tell my husband you caused the explosion.”
Jordan groaned. Her options were to go on this stupid retreat or
let the world’s only fire-breathing dragon shifter know she almost
killed his mate. The choice was clear. “When do I leave?”
 3

J ackson shook his head at the carnage by his feet. Half a

dozen chickens dead, their carcasses a mangle of blood,
feathers, and guts. Dead chickens, he’d seen plenty of times.
But this was a massacre. Nothing they couldn’t recover from
as they had many more chickens in the coop. But it was a waste.
Each chicken gave them around twenty eggs a month. There wasn’t
even anything left for them to turn into a meal.
“Get rid of these,” he told Carl, one of the younger employees.
“Yes, Alpha.” Carl turned and ran back toward the barn, leaving
Jackson alone with Garland, one of his most trusted ranch hands.
“What do you think about this?” he asked the older man.
Garland stroked his snowy mustache with the tip of his thumb
and forefinger. “Never seen anything quite like this, Alpha.”
“I know. This isn’t just some animal looking for a meal.” Jackson
glanced around.
“Lycan, then? Some new pup not in control of his or her shifts?”
Garland asked.
“Could be, but we know each and every kid in the clan who’s
about ready for the shift. No one’s even close to that age this year.”
Lycans only began to shift around their teen years, and when that
happened, the clan helped ease them into the transition. The first
few shifts were messy affairs, and the pups needed to be taught to
control their animals.
“You know the other explanation.”
 “Yeah.” Jackson clenched his jaw. “But I don’t want to say it out
loud.”
“Someone’s going feral.”
There. Garland had said it for him. Some Lycans went feral—a
state where they couldn’t control their wolves—for a variety of
reasons, but usually it had to do with some type of trauma.
Garland took his hat off. “So, are you thinking it’s one of the new
guys, then, Alpha?”
“Out of the sixteen wolves we rehabbed, three elected to stay,”
Jackson began. “Elijah, Samuel, and Carter.” Elijah had been one of
the older Lycans, a man in his fifties. He’d been brainwashed by the
Mages and before that, he’d been a Lone Wolf for such a long time,
he didn’t remember where his original clan was from. He was a hard
worker and didn’t look like he could hurt a fly.
Then there were the two younger ones. Carter was brash and a
show-off, but so were most young men his age. Jackson didn’t like
his attitude and how he was always mouthing off. But he said he
wanted to stay on, and he had made many friends among the
Shenandoah clan who vouched for him.
Samuel on the other hand … Jackson could feel something was
off about the man. All the broken wolves who came to them had
something wrong with them. After all, they had been brainwashed or
controlled in one way or another. That was why Jackson had yet to
accept the three fully into the fold when they asked to stay and
pledge to the Shenandoah clan. Jackson had them on a probationary
period which was usually standard for any Lycan looking to join
another clan. He hadn’t made them any promises, but allowed them
to stay and earn their keep.
But what made Samuel stand out was that Jackson just could not
get a read on the man. When he looked into the man’s eyes, he saw
nothing. Just a dead, cold stare. He knew what he had gone
through. It wasn’t much different from what Connor had experience.
That made Jackson pity the man, but now …
“Let’s keep an eye on this,” he told Garland.
“Will do, Alpha.”
Another random document with
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"Where's your bread, Fwank?"

"I'm not hungry yet. When we get out we'll buy some more."

"When s'all we get out?"

"When they open the door."

After some time, Fred got so hungry, and said so with such increasing
emphasis, that at last Frank was driven to call out; but no one heard him.
The vans were again on a siding waiting for a train to take them to their
destination further south. The greater part of the train had gone on to
London.

Hungry and frightened, the forlorn pair sat side by side, tightly clasped in
each other's arms. They fell asleep at last, and when they awoke the train
was moving.

"Oh, Fwank, they're wunning away with us!"

"But I suppose they are going to Liverpool," answered Frank; "and won't
that be nice?"

"Yes, but I'm so hungry!"

"So am I," admitted poor Frank; "but, then, fancy if we find we're safe in
Liverpool!"

As he spoke the train slackened its pace, and finally stopped.

Presently a man opened the door of the van, and pulled out the big box
thrust in at Rugeley. He went off with it without seeing the boys, who
were behind the door. Poor little souls! They rejoiced at this escape, yet
surely it would have been well had they been discovered and sent back to
Rugeley. The man left the door open, and Frank peeped out. There were
several men about, but they were all busy, and the boys got out of the
van unperceived.

They looked very unlike poor Janet's neatly dressed and spotlessly clean
little boys. Frank had got dusty in his prison closet; they had both trudged
the dusty road for hours, and had finally slept in a railway van on a sack
of wool. Of each and all these adventures they bore visible traces; their
natty little sailor suits were all awry, their curly hair full of bits of wool.
They really looked like what they wished to pass for—two little beggars.
As they looked about, hoping to see some one who would tell them where
they were, though they felt sure they were in Liverpool, the station-
master spied them.

"Off the platform, you little ragamuffins," he shouted. "We've had quite
enough of pickpockets here already."

Utterly unused to unkindness, except from grandma, Frank restrained his

brother, who would have fled, and, taking his hand, walked up to the
station-master, and said—

"Please, sir, is not this Liverpool?"

The man stared. All he saw, however, was a dirty little pair of children,
who plainly had no right to be on his platform. The baby beauty of dark-
eyed Fred, the sweet confiding smile of poor pale Frank had no effect
whatever on him.

"Liverpool! Is the boy an idiot? Get out of this at once, or I'll take a stick
to you."

As he spoke, a whistle sounded, and, behold! The train was moving on.
Frank felt as if his last friend was deserting him. A moment more, and he
was driven off the platform, Fred clinging to him in great terror, and the
station-master rattling a thick stick against the iron railings that separated
the railway from the road.

"Oh, Fwank, what shall we do now?"

"Don't cry, Fred. I'll take care of you, and God loves us just the same as if
we were at home with muddie. But I wish I had not left my bag in the
van."

A little way from the station they came to a shop, where they bought
some bread; a drinking-fountain in the street gave them a drink of water.
They consulted each other on the propriety of washing, but Frank thought
that people might object. Then a woman came along the pathway, and
Frank ventured to address her—

"Please, ma'am, isn't this Liverpool?"

"Liverpool! Did you ever hear the like? Why, child, Liverpool's a long way
off. I never saw it in my life. Why do you ask?"

"Because we are going there, ma'am."

"What! You two babies? Who are you going with?"

"No one, ma'am. We must walk."

"Nonsense, child—walk indeed!"

"Oh, we can walk very well," Frank said, adding with a sigh, "We're
beggars, you know."

The woman was kind-hearted, but stupid, and, moreover, in a hurry. She
looked round for a policeman, intending to call his attention to the
children; but there was no policeman to be seen, so she compromised the
matter with her conscience by saying—

"I don't know any way of getting to Liverpool except by train, and that
costs a lot of money. Go home now, like good children. Here's a penny for
you, and I'm in a great hurry."

"Thank you, ma'am," Frank said gratefully. And then, as she sped away,
he turned to Fred, saying, "By train—that's what she said. Then, Fred, as
long as we keep near the train we're on the right road to Liverpool."

Fred, refreshed by sound sleep and a big hunch of bread, set forth gaily,
skipping along beside the weary, gentle-looking elder brother, for whom,
alas! Sleep had brought little refreshment, and who had stinted his
breakfast that he might have bread in his pocket for Fred. Thus they left
the town, the name of which they never knew, but I think it must have
been Cirencester.

CHAPTER VIII.
THE BABES IN THE WOOD.

EVERY ONE knows the lines in "The Babes in the Wood"—

"These pretty Babes, hand-in-hand,
Went wandering up and down;"

* * * * *

"And when they saw the darksome night,

They sat them down and cried."

Yes, it came to that with Janet's little darlings. That they had taken a
southerly direction, following the railway away from, instead of towards,
Liverpool, or any other place they knew, really did not matter in the least.
Their enterprise was an impossible one in any case. They tried hard to
keep the railway in sight, but the roads did not lie near it, and in finding
easy places to creep through or over fences they wandered from it, and
finally failed to find it again. This was a great relief to Fred, but Frank felt
more lost than ever.

They bought bread as long as they had pence to pay for it, then they
begged in good earnest, getting sometimes a little food, sometimes a
penny, sometimes a hard word. They slept under a tree, or where they
could; that is, Fred slept, and Frank lay as quiet as he could, and kept
Fred warm, dozing at intervals and awaking in the grey dawn shivering
and hardly able to get up from the ground.

Then the weather changed: it blew and rained, and the nights were cold.

Except to give them a little charity, no one took any notice of them. They
looked much like any other little beggars, and if people thought about
them at all, they probably concluded that they belonged to some party,
and that their comrades were waiting just out of sight. It was a thinly
inhabited country district; they begged only at solitary houses, and there
were no policemen about, as would have been the case in any town.

There is a village in Gloucestershire which I shall call Edgestone, a large

village with numerous inhabitants, mostly poor, industrious people. It had
a clergyman, of course, and a doctor—and, I believe, a lawyer. Most of the
men were labourers employed on the large farms which surrounded the
village; their wives and children lived in more or less comfort, according
to the thrift or unthrift of their parents, in the rows of cottages which
formed the street. The church—a beautiful old building—stood in the
middle of the village. Beyond it there was a large green, on which the
children played and geese wandered about at pleasure; at the side
furthest from the church was the schoolhouse, and a few houses of the
better sort, with gardens; then the street again, but this part of it was
very short.

In these houses on the green, the doctor and the few gentry of the place
lived. The road to the village from the east lay through farms and
orchards, with here and there a cottage. As one came nearer Edgestone,
the cottages were more numerous, until at last you found yourself in the
street.

In one of the outlying cottages—a small white one, containing but two
rooms, but standing in a little garden always full of bright flowers, as
indeed were the two clean windows, and even the tiny back yard—in this
cottage lived a little old woman, whose name was Betty Giles. She had
been a servant in her youth; then she married, and brought up a
numerous family. Her husband was a good, steady man, and her married
life had been happy. Then her husband died, and she was left alone, for
her boys were married, and her girls either married or in service. Her
married children would gladly have given her a home, for she was one
who was sure of a welcome, owing to her kindly, pleasant ways and her
industry.

But Betty would not go to any one of them, nor to all of them in turn,
which was another plan proposed to her. She gave up her big cottage, and
took this tiny one, and there she contrived to support herself by various
small industries. She kept a small shop, selling bread of her own making,
always light and sweet, tea and sugar and biscuits, and several other
things. But her principal income was derived from her scrap of garden.
She grew patches of early annuals, which somehow always turned out
very fine, so that the ladies on the green would buy them eagerly instead
of trying to grow them for themselves. When these were cleared away,
she sowed autumn flowers. In boxes, cunningly hung from the wall at the
back of her cottage, and all round the very small yard, she grew cuttings
of geraniums, chrysanthemums, fuchsias, etc., the parent plants making a
gorgeous show in the front garden. Betty's husband had been a gardener,
and she understood and loved flowers. Whether she loved them because
she understood them, or understood because she loved, I really cannot
say.

Between her manifold employments and her many visits to and from her
sons and daughters, Betty lived a busy and a happy life. She was a little
woman, with a face like a pink-and-red apple—a rather withered apple, I
confess. Her face, her dress, her cap and apron, her house and her
furniture were always beautifully and spotlessly clean.
One evening in September—it was only September, but the weather had
broken, and it was very cold—Betty sat in her snug kitchen reading her
Bible; a very slow and solemn process was Betty's reading. Her lonely life
had given her a habit of talking to herself, for she had an active tongue
and no one else to talk to.

"That," said Betty, "is a tex' as sticks in the memory, so I'll stop here. Ah
me! It must be fine to be a scholar like some of my young folk—no
spelling out of words for them! 'Tis a blessing, for the like of me, that the
Bible is read out loud in church, for one does seem to take it in better
when one doesn't have to spell."

"Well, now, I think there's a touch of frost, though 'tis far too early for it,
if I may say so without offence, seeing that my opinion wasn't asked. I
think I'll cover the geranium slips; fine they look, and 'twould be a pity to
run risks. Such a lot, too; I shall have to buy some pots. That's just a
cross I have to bear—the way some folk forget to return my pots. Now,
there's Miss Lavinia has a heap of them in a corner—pots properly
belonging to me, and I'm afraid to ask for them, she's so quick to take
huff."

"Eh—what's that? Some one at the door! I must have left the gate open.
'Tis well if half a score of dogs don't—Oh, a child! Well, little chap, what
do you want? And who are you? For I don't know you, and I know every
boy in the village."

The child stood before her, she standing in the doorway with a lighted
candle in her hand. A pretty boy, but ragged and dirty. He had on a sailor
suit of dark blue, once very natty, and over his little jacket, he wore a
second, equally ragged, and far too large for him. His shoes were broken
and nearly soleless, his feet blistered and bleeding, his hair was matted
and twisted, but, when he raised appealing dark eyes to Betty's face, the
look went to her soft old heart.

"Come to Fwank; he's sick; he can't walk any more. I'm fwightened."

"'Come to Fwank'! Who's that, and where is he?"

"On the woad under the hedge. 'Tis cold, ma'am." Here his eyes lighted
on a flat cake of bread lying on the little deal table that served as a
counter, and he burst out crying. "I'm so hungwy. 'Dive' me some
'bwead'!"

Betty cut a good piece and gave it to him. Before he took a morsel, the
little hand was stretched out.
"Some for Fwank, though he says he's not hungwy. But we've had none—
oh, for ever so long."

"Show me where he is," said old Betty; and they set out together, the boy
devouring the bread. It was some way off: there was a high hedge
growing on a low bank. On the side path, with his head on the sloping
bank, lying on his back, with his arms stretched out and his white face
upturned towards the clear starry sky, lay Frank. Betty knelt beside him,
and touched him; she spoke to him, and at last raised him into a sitting
posture, leaning against her arm. But the child neither spoke nor moved,
not so much as to open his eyes.

"And no jacket at all! No wonder he's cold. I doubt he's colder than is
natural, though 'tis a cold night too."

She got up as she spoke, and lifted him in her old arms.

"Light as a feather, too. Skin and bone—not much of it either. Come, little
chap, trot on beside me. I must get this child warm—if I can."

Fred confidingly ran beside her, her walk keeping him running, and though
she saw that the child was weary and could scarcely do it, she did not
slacken her pace. Into the warm cottage, she carried the boy, laying him
on the floor before the fire, and putting a pillow under his head. She put
her hand on his heart—poor little loving, brave heart. She thought it
fluttered, but not more than that. She got some milk and warmed it,
giving a cupful to Fred. Then she tried patiently to make Frank swallow a
spoonful, but tried in vain. Fred, having finished his share, sat down
beside his brother.

"Fwank, isn't this nice and cosy? Put your arms wound me as you always
do."

Betty thought there was an effort to move, but even of that she was not
sure.

"Fwank never did so before. Always his arms wound me, and my head on
him—so."

And the little dark head was laid on the faithful breast which had been its
pillow so often, and the bright eyes closed. Fred was asleep.

Mrs. Giles, muttering to herself, "The pitifullest sight I ever saw," covered
them with her warm shawl, and poked up the fire—recklessly for one of
her frugal habits. Then she went out into the night again, going as fast as
her feet could carry her up the long straggling street, and across the
green. She was bound for the doctor's house, but outside the gate of the
little avenue she met the doctor himself, setting out to take a last look at
some patient.

"Dr. Wentworth, be that you? Oh, sir, I'm glad I've met you! Come to my
house; there's a boy there that I think is dying."

"Whose boy, Betty? Your grandson?"

"No; no one I know. There's two of them. I found them, or one of them
found me. I'll tell you by-and-by; just now I want my breath for walking.
Oh, doctor, 'tis the saddest sight!"

Little more passed as they hurried to the cottage. Betty pulled off the
shawl, and the doctor muttered, "Too late—for one of them."

Having asked Betty a question or two as to what she had already done, he
lifted Fred from his brother's side, and put him upon Betty's bed; he was
warm now, and sleeping soundly. Then he heated Betty's shawl and his
own coat, and wrapped the other boy up in them, and chafed the little
sore and battered feet.

"Betty, go to the Cygnet, and get me a little brandy. Say nothing of the
children; I don't want all the village here."

Betty hurried away, and was soon back again with the brandy. The doctor
wetted the white lips with it, and rubbed the temples. Then he again felt
for the beating of the heart, and while he was doing so the boy opened his
eyes, and, looking at the two faces bent over him, said faintly—

"Fred! Where is Fred?"

"Safe and warm in my bed, child," answered Betty.

"Ah!"—with a sigh of relief. "Safe and warm!"

"Drink this, my boy," said Dr. Wentworth. "You shall tell us all about it by-
and-by."

"Where's Fred?" Frank again asked, in a hurried tone.

Dr. Wentworth went and lifted the sleeping child gently, laying him beside
the other.

"See, here he is, safe and sound."

"He always sleeps here. Ah! I cannot move. Fred, I did save you. I have
taken care of you. I'm tired; but you're safe."

Fred sat up, half awake, and kissed him.

"Fred, tell muddie I took care of you." Then to the doctor, "Tell muddie I
took care of Fred."

Fred, frightened and sleepy, began to cry. When had he ever cried before
and Frank failed to comfort him? Betty took him up in her arms, and the
poor little thing was so worn out that he fell asleep again with the tears
on his cheeks.

"I can't take care of him any more," Frank said, after a vain effort to
swallow what Dr. Wentworth offered him. "But God will; muddie says so."

He stretched himself suddenly, gave a weak cry, and was gone.

"Oh, doctor, don't tell me he's dead, the pretty little darling! Wait till I put
this one back in bed."

This she did, and came softly back.

"Is he dead?"

"Ay, dead. Starved, I think. Look, the little one has on two jackets; he has
none. The comforter's tied round the young one, and it is plain that
whatever food they have had, the young one has had the lion's share, too
young to know that his brother was giving him his life. Well, Betty, you did
all you could. I'll go now and get help to carry the poor little fellow to the
Cygnet; there will have to be an inquest, and I suppose we shall find out
who they are, and how they were lost, for lost they were, I suspect. These
are no tramps to the manner born. This little fellow must go to the
poorhouse until his people turn up. I declare, Betty, I'd give many a fat
fee to have saved this boy."

"Indeed, then, doctor, if I was their mother, I'd wish them together again
in heaven sooner than have this baby in the poorhouse."

The doctor carried out his arrangements, and little Frank's frail and worn
body was laid on a bed in the clean little inn, while Fred lay warm and soft
in Betty's arms. So the little wanderers both slept sound, one of them to
wake no more to this world's "fitful fever."

Next day there was an inquest, and Fred was to have been questioned as
to the name borne by himself and his brother, and how they came to be
wandering about in this forlorn way. But Fred was in no condition to be
examined.

When he awoke, he began calling for "Fwank," and searching for him, with
tears and lamentations, looking everywhere for him, and calling
incessantly. Betty, at last, in despair, told him that Frank was dead. She
hardly expected the child to understand. But Frank's innocent talk about
his unforgotten little sister had made Fred familiar with the idea of death
to some extent, and, after a long stare of horror, the poor little fellow
began to scream, and nothing that Betty could say or do seemed to make
any difference. The doctor, busy about the inquest, was near at hand, and
after some vain attempts to quiet the child, he had to give him a sleeping
draught, which soon had the desired effect.

But when Fred woke again, he was very ill; he was quite delirious, and
talked fast and indistinctly about "muddie" and "Fwank" and "gwandma."
It was many a long day before he could be questioned, and when they
tried to do so, he seemed to have forgotten everything and every one.

Several attempts were made, more with a view to finding out who the
child was than with any reference to Frank's death. For by that time,
Frank's little grave was green; the doctor, feeling sure that some day the
children would be inquired about, had had him buried at his own expense
beside his own little son, his only child, who had died but a short time
previously. But no information could be got from poor Fred, whose little
white face, with the wistful dark eyes, looked full of intelligence, but
whose memory, for the present at least, seemed a blank. At last the
doctor forbade any further questioning of the child.

"I am sure," he said, "that as he regains his strength, his mind will
recover from the shock, but you may seriously injure him, if you do not
leave him in peace now."

Every effort was made, of course, to trace the children's wanderings, and
they were tracked back some stages in their journey. But then all trace
was lost. The distance the poor little things had come in the luggage van
was so great that the inquiries made were never heard of by any one who
knew them; nothing but their initials was marked on their clothing, and,
save the photograph of his father, Frank had had nothing in his pocket.
Even the photograph told nothing, for it had been originally a cabinet-size
portrait, and poor Janet had cut out the head to fit it into a little leather
case, so that the name and address of the photographer were wanting.

"Really," said Dr. Wentworth one day, when he had looked in to see Fred,
"really, Betty, if we send this child to the union, he'll probably grow up an
idiot."

"Send him to the union?" interrupted Betty. "Is it the child I've nursed
through that terrible fever, and that has slept in my old arms every night
since I got him? What do you take me for, doctor?"

"For a good old body with a hasty tongue, Betty. Just let me finish my
remarks, please. If he goes to the union, he'll end in being an idiot.
Therefore, it would be doubly cruel to send him there. Now, if you can
continue to keep him for a while, I'll help you. I feel sure the child will be
looked for, and whoever finds him will find only one where two were lost.
But we need not add to their grief."

"I don't need any help, doctor, so far. Only for clothes. I'll keep the child.
I've got to love him."

"Clothes? Yes; I'll speak to my wife. We'll clothe him, and pay for his
schooling, if he ever needs any. Meanwhile, do you get him to help you in
any little way he is able for, and keep him out in the fresh air. Never talk
to him of the night he came to you, and I really believe he'll be all right in
a while. I'm afraid he will hardly remember anything that will help to
identify him, because he's such a little creature. Poor little waif! He was in
luck when he chose your door to creep up to."

So little Fred's fate was arranged for him, for a time at least. Betty taught
him to weed in the garden, and to water her many precious pots and
boxes of slips and seedlings. She took him with her, when she carried
home flowers or plants to her customers, and though he seldom spoke,
and never unless asked a question, she soon found that he knew his way
as well as she did, and that he never made a mistake about a message.
So as time went on, he was provided with a little handcart, and became
her trusty little messenger. Other people employed him too, so that he
earned many a penny, and these he brought home faithfully to Betty.

He had been a very small child for his age, but now he began to grow,
and became a tall, slight boy, with, as Betty used to say, "as pretty a face
as any lady." Yet many a long day passed, before any one could find out
whether he remembered anything that had happened to him before he
became "Betty Giles's Fred," as the neighbours called him now.
 CHAPTER IX.
IN THE NEW HOME.

LET us pay a flying visit to Kelmersdale to see how it fared with

"grandma." Mrs. Rayburn has not hitherto appeared in a very amiable
light in these pages, yet she was not an altogether bad woman. She had a
heart, though it was so overlaid with selfishness that she herself hardly
knew that it existed, and she had a conscience, though she made but little
use of it.

And now, as she sat alone in her snug room, and ate her comfortable
meals, she failed to get the slightest comfort or enjoyment out of any of
these things. The faces of the two boys—Frank's gentle smile, Fred's
saucy laugh—rose up before her, no matter what she was doing or where
she was.

She felt sure now that Janet would write or come to claim her children,
though she had so often declared that Janet had deliberately deserted
them, and would be heard of no more. Most people believed that the boys
had fallen into the Kelmer, and now lay in one of those deep holes, or
pools, into which those drowned in that river generally disappeared. But
Mrs. Rayburn did not believe this, though she tried to do so. Every horrid
story of the oppression of children by chimney-sweeps, travelling tinkers,
professional acrobats, and others, came into her head whenever she
thought of the two boys; she pictured them to herself as suffering and
starved and beaten, overworked and ill-used in every possible way. She
had always been fond of stories of horrors, and now she paid for her bad
taste, for they supplied her imagination with horrors enough to drive any
one mad. Those about her said that Mrs. Rayburn cared for those children
far more than any one could have expected, considering that their father
was only her stepson, and by no means a creditable one, by her own
showing.

So passed the autumn, a few weeks being fine, and then the weather
broke, and there were cold, damp days and rainy, windy nights.

On the very night on which little Fred found his way to Betty's cottage
with his pitiful cry for help—the very night when Frank's sweet soul
passed away—there came a letter for Mrs. Rayburn. Maria brought it to
her.

"A letter, ma'am; and I'm sure I hope it's good news, for I can't bear to
see how you fret for the poor little children."

Mrs. Rayburn looked at the writing.

"It's from no one I know," she said, laying it down beside her. She sat for
some time plunged in very gloomy thoughts. The Earl and a party of
friends were come to the Castle for some shooting, and they were just
then at dinner. A door was opened, and she heard the sound of voices and
laughter. She felt unreasonably angry that any one should laugh in the
very same place where the boys had played so often so short a time ago.

The boys, the poor little dead boys—for they were dead, and she was
tormenting herself foolishly imagining them in misery and suffering—they
were in heaven; and well was it for them, for it was clear that neither
Janet nor their father would ever be heard of in England again.

Now she felt able to read that letter, and she took it up. A strange hand,
shaky and uneven. She opened it, glanced at the signature, and, uttering
a low cry, fell back in her chair.

An hour later, when the guests left the dining-hall, and were heard
passing along the corridors to the smoking-room, the noise roused Mrs.
Rayburn, who was still sitting with the letter grasped in her hand, unread.
Now, making a great effort to compose herself, she began to read it.

"Old Man's Ferry Farm, Gattigo, British

Columbia.

"MY DEAR MOTHER,

"I hope you have not been frightened about me,

though I have been so long without writing. I could not
help it, for I have been very ill, and am still very weak, as
you may see from my writing. I was in great distress at
getting no letter from you, with news of my little darlings,
till I remembered that I may not have given you my
brother's address, for I was in such a hurry, and so
distracted at parting with the children. I am with Gilbert,
and Fred is here too, and we have some hope that we shall
soon be settled, either here to help Gilbert and his wife, or
in Gattigo in an hotel which Gilbert means to start, and we
are to manage. Whichever we have to do, we can have the
boys out now. I enclose a bank-bill for their expenses, and
if you could possibly be spared to take my two boys to
Liverpool, and put them on board the boat named in
Gilbert's part of this letter, it will be very kind of you.
Gilbert will send you every direction to save you trouble.
We wish them to come by this boat, because Gilbert knows
the captain, whose wife will be on board. Fred will meet
them on landing, and bring them on here. How I long for
them no words can tell, though I am sure you have made
them as happy as possible, and we shall never forget your
kindness to them and to us.

"Fred sends you his love. He is now quite well, and

only longing to be at work in some way. While on his way
to join my brother, he met an old acquaintance who had
set up in business in New Durham, and who cheated him,
poor fellow! out of all his money, and then ran away,
leaving him to be suspected of all sorts of dishonesty. And
he managed so that poor Fred could not prove his
innocence, nor could my brother, though he felt quite sure
of it. However, our troubles are over now, I hope, and a
new life about to begin. I only want my boys to make me
as happy as ever.

"Will you come out with the boys and share our work in
the hotel if we go there? Perhaps you would prefer to wait
until we know for certain we shall be there, or here on the
farm? Whichever it is, your assistance would be very
 welcome. But perhaps you do not care to leave
Kelmersdale, where you are so comfortable, and we feel
unwilling to urge you until we are sure of our future
prospects. But when we know that we are going to do well,
you may be sure we shall want you to share our good
fortune.

"Kiss my boys for 'muddie,' and remember that,

though I cannot write as I feel, I am for ever grateful to
you for taking care of them. When I feel their arms round
my neck, I shall be too happy. Tell them that 'muddie' just
longs for them. I must leave room for Gilbert now.

"Your affectionate daughter,

"JANET RAYBURN."

When Maria came back a little later with Mrs. Rayburn's supper, she found
her lying back in her armchair insensible. The letter lay at her feet.

* * * * *

Fred Rayburn was just about to leave the Farm in order to meet the two
boys and bring them safe to their mother, when a letter to Janet from
Lord Beaucourt stopped him. Very kindly and gently did the Earl break the
dreadful news. He told the story very fully, and said that, although the
children had not been found in the river, there was no reasonable doubt
that they had fallen in, probably in trying to take a drink. He spoke of the
character of the Kelmer, from which the bodies of those who were
drowned in it were very seldom recovered. And he told of Mrs. Rayburn's
serious illness, which it was still feared would end fatally.

"Your letter and the bank-bills I now return to you were lying at her feet. I
am told that since her power of speech has returned to her, she talks of
having been harsh to the children; and I cannot say whether this is really
true, or only her fancy. Certainly she has never been the same since they
were lost."

He concluded with many expressions of sympathy, and a promise that

Mrs. Rayburn should be well cared for.

Poor Janet! That letter very nearly killed her. At her earnest request, Fred
went to England, to ascertain, as far as he could, the truth about Mrs.
Rayburn's treatment of the boys; and perhaps there was a wild hope that
he might discover that the children had not perished. He did his best, but
discovered nothing new about the children.

Mrs. Rayburn had left the Castle, and was in a hospital in London, as her
state of mind required careful watching; but she was better, and would,
they thought, recover. Fred felt convinced that she had not been kind to
the children, and did not feel very sorry when told that he could not see
her.

He returned to Canada after a while, bringing no hope, and but little

added information.

Poor Janet! Her sorrow was very sore, and it was not lessened by a
curious feeling of doubt that took possession of her. She could not believe
that her children were dead. If for a moment she felt sure, next moment a
doubt sprang up again. She told no one of this feeling, for she could give
no reason for it, and whether it added to her grief, or was a gleam of
comfort, she did not very well know. It added much to her suffering, for it
made her restless and full of longing to go home and search England for
her bonny boys. But, after a while, another little Lily came to comfort the
poor torn heart, and Janet's grief lost some of its bitterness.

But it had utterly changed her. Her bright colour was gone; her face was
still and grave. Her little daughter had the tenderest care, but the merry
playfellow with whom Frank and Fred had had many a game of romps,
little Lily never knew.

After a while the first manager of "Gray's Hotel" left his situation, and
Fred Rayburn was his successor. All feeling against him was quite
forgotten. Indeed, with sturdy Gilbert Gray to keep him steady, Fred was
a different man. He prospered exceedingly; all things went well with him.
And yet, he would have given all his wealth to see his gentle, sad-faced,
silent wife look like the pretty, happy Janet who had played with her boys
in the old sitting-room over the Gateway.

"Janet," he said one day, when something had made them talk of the lost
children, "I wonder how you can bear the sight of me. It was really my
fault. But for my folly and selfishness, you would never have had to leave
them."

"Dear heart, I loved you before God gave me them, and your grief for
them made me love you more. And, maybe, nothing but such a sorrow
would have made us one, as we are now."
"You mean, would have made me think? You are right there. I never really
saw that I had sinned till I felt that—that dreadful blow. There was mercy
in the chastisement for me, but for you, my poor Janet—"

"Hush! You and I are one," was her quiet answer. "I can never forget my
pretty Frank and Fred, but I am content, dear. You and I are one."

CHAPTER X.
FRANK'S MESSAGE TO "MUDDIE."

LITTLE Fred, all alone in the world, and thrown upon the mercy of perfect
strangers, was surely very fortunate in having crept up Betty's garden
walk, rather than to any other cottage in Edgestone. For I suspect that he
would have found his way to the poorhouse, and, in the state he was in at
the time, this would have had most disastrous effects.

Having been the youngest, and not quick at speaking, he spoke very
indistinctly long after he was voluble enough. His inability to pronounce
the letter "r" made his speech sound babyish. But in two years, he had
grown so much, and had so completely lost the baby face and the baby
ways of the little brother Frank had taken such care of, that Frank would
hardly have known him again. He looked as old for his six years now as he
had looked young for four. A silent, sad-looking boy, with a half-puzzled
expression in his fine dark eyes, which sometimes made people wonder if
he were "quite like other children." His step-grandmother would never
have recognized her merry, mischievous, laughing torment in this quiet,
tall boy, who seemed to care for nothing but being of use to Betty.

As I have said before, he proved a careful messenger, and earned many a

penny, and every penny was brought to Betty with some little pride. One
day she said to him—

"You earn so many pence, Fred, that I'm going to keep half to buy your
clothes. Think of that, now!"

Fred looked up at her earnestly.

"Don't you want them, Mrs. Betty?" Which was his chosen name for her.

"I don't want them all," she said, wondering what was coming, for he so
seldom spoke except to answer a question.

"Then, if you don't want them, may I keep half for Fwank?"

It was the first time he had named his brother since his own illness.

"Why, child," Betty said tenderly, "Frank wants neither pence nor aught
you could buy with them. He has all he wants. He's quite safe and happy."

"Yes, Fwank is dead," the boy said after a pause.

Betty was quite pleased to find that he remembered this.

"Yes, dear, he is. Dear little fellow, he is dead surely, so, you see, he is in
heaven now, and those who go there want nothing."

She talked to him for some time, and he seemed to listen, yet when she
ceased, he said again—

"Keep half the pence for Fwank. There's his message, you know."

This rather puzzled Betty, and Fred would say no more. So she told him
that she would lay by the pence carefully, and added—

"By-and-by, when you've saved enough, you shall buy a wooden cross to
put at the head of his grave."

"With the message," Fred put in.

"I don't know about a message, but that's all you can do for him, dear,
and it well becomes you to do it, for I think he gave his life for yours."
How much or how little of this Fred understood, she could not tell. He
often sat thinking, thinking, with a sad and puzzled look, but he did not
speak of Frank again. Only when he brought his earnings, carefully
divided into two equal portions, he would say—

"Half for Fwank, Mrs. Betty."

After a while he found out, from something the doctor said, that Frank lay
in the old churchyard just beside the grave of little Charlie Wentworth.
There was a pretty headstone to the little Wentworth's grave, and his poor
mother kept it beautiful, with flowers growing round it. Frank's grave was
just a plain green mound. But thenceforth, when Betty missed her charge,
she was pretty sure to find him sitting beside it. Being a wise old body,
she did not interfere, only, after a time, suggested to him to plant flowers
on it like those on the other. From that time Frank's resting-place was
kept in the most beautiful order. Betty could always spare a few plants for
this purpose, and Fred cut the grass with shears, and trimmed and tended
it, until it was a wonder for colour and smoothness.

After a time, the boy began to speak more frequently, and the doctor put
him to school, where he soon surprised the schoolmaster by his quickness
and ability. But he did not care to join the boys on the green, unless they
were playing cricket or football. In these, he soon excelled, but for a mere
game of romps he did not care at all.

Thus time went on until Fred Giles, as the neighbours called him, was a
fine handsome lad of thirteen, and the schoolmaster informed Dr.
Wentworth that it was a great pity he could have no further education.

"You see, doctor, the boys here generally leave school at about thirteen or
fourteen, which I suppose is about Fred's age now. And I am too tired in
the evening, with this big school on my hands, to give him private
lessons, which I would if I could. He's very clever; there's nothing he
could not learn. I suppose old Betty is making a gardener of him; the best
she can do, but 'tis a pity."

The doctor went home to his delicate wife, who, poor thing, could no
longer take care of her boy's grave, for she was a prisoner on her sofa,
and never likely to be better.

"Lucy, you know the boy whom Betty Giles took to care for, and whom we
have partly clothed?"

"Little Fred? Oh yes, I know him. A very fine boy, though indeed, I have
not seen him for a long time. I hope he is not ill?"
"Not he. But Dale, the schoolmaster, you know, was just speaking to me
about him. It seems he is very clever. You know that he has long kept his
little brother's grave in order, but I never told you that since you have
been laid by, he has done the same for our little grave. I used to go and
look, meaning to have it settled, and I wondered how your work lasted so
long, my poor girl, when one evening I found him hard at work. Well,
now, it seems to me a pity that a boy like this, evidently belonging to
respectable people, should be condemned to leave school at thirteen and
to earn his bread as a labourer. And if his people ever turn up, it would be
a terrible blow to them, don't you think so?"

"Yes, but really after all these years—nine years now—I hardly expect his
people to trace him. But if he is a fine, clever lad, one would give him a
chance for his own sake. What did you think of? You are well off, and we
have no—no one to come after us, Alick. We might well do this."

Dr. Wentworth's worn face brightened.

"I was half afraid you might dislike the idea of having a boy about the
house, dear."

"About the house," she said, with a start, "did you say? I did not
understand at first. But no, Alick, I do not object at all. It would be an
interest for you."

"My idea is to train him to help me in the dispensary; Mark Fletcher will
soon be leaving me. Then I can give him lessons myself, and, if he really
is clever, get Mr. Hewson to teach him, and so as time passes, we shall
see what he really is fit for, and how we like him. My dear, I know you
consent only for my sake, but I hope it may prove an interest for you too,
and brighten your life a bit. It seems to me that he is a boy one would get
fond of easily."

Mrs. Wentworth said nothing. She thought that plans for the future
mattered more to the doctor than to her.

Intent on his idea, Dr. Wentworth went to see Betty Giles the next day. He
found the old woman sitting in the sun at her front door, knitting a
stocking, and looking complacently at her crop of young annuals.

"Well, Betty, how goes the world with you?" he said.

"It goes," Betty said cheerily; "that's just it, doctor. It goes, and it goes,
and soon 'twill be gone, or I shall, which comes to the same thing as far
as I'm concerned."