That was enough to send Jean into a litany of possible jobs and boyfriends, most of which Cassie was sure were much worse than being described. Her aunt had retired into a seniors' community that seemed to be loaded with single nephews and grandsons looking for love, and the nearby town desperate for decent help—at least, until Cassie married and settled down.
An hour later, she was ready to call it quits, gently pushing her aunt off the phone with promises to visit soon.
The fire was beginning to die down, and she added another log before closing the wire curtain and lying down on the couch, choosing to stay downstairs for the time being. A few clicks of the television remote to find the yearly all-night Christmas movie marathon, and she was ready to call it a night.
She glanced over toward the bathroom door, listening intently for any sign of trouble. It was slightly open, giving the poor creature an out if he really wanted to leave the room. Chasing him around the house might be a bother, but it was better than worrying about him scratching the hell out of her walls.
A last sip of cooling tea, and she closed her eyes, listening to Kris Kringle explain the Christmas Spirit.
Chapter Two
When she woke, sunlight was slowly creeping over the carpet, streaming in through the nearby window. The fire was nothing more than a pile of embers, safe behind the wire screen.
Cassie yawned as she got up and went to the fireplace. She jabbed at the remains with the metal poker, trying to decide whether to put another log on or not.
"If I'm taking that otter to the vet... best not to bother." She said to herself before putting the poker away, ignoring the small woodpile sitting by the hearth.
Cassie walked toward the bathroom, pushing the door open. "Merry Christmas!" she called out. "Let me grab a cup of coffee before we start calling around. Might have to make a few before we find an open vet or animal sanctuary, but..."
She paused, taking in the sight of the naked man lying in her bathtub, a small piece of brown material covering his private parts. He sat up, shock spreading across his face as he gripped the edges of the tub.
What the...
Cassie stepped toward the stranger.
"Who the hell are you and—"
Her foot hit a wet spot on the tiled floor.
Cassie's mind listed every move as if she were on Broadway, choreographed in slow motion.
Twist. Slip.
Fall.
She tried to turn, avoid smashing her head on the toilet bowl, and succeeded in only a glancing blow against the sink.
Shit.
The world spun around before going black.
***
She blinked wildly, the ceiling coming into focus as her vision cleared.
I...
I knocked myself out.
Well, that's one way to celebrate Christmas.
Cassie lay still for a second, assessing the situation. She didn't feel any pain, other than a throbbing on the side of her head, obviously from hitting the sink.
The ceiling was familiar—her living room. She'd stared at those cracks for hours over the years, lying down on the couch with a good book and glancing up every now and then to give her eyes a break.
So, she was still in her house. Except not on the bathroom floor.
"I'm sorry." The gentle, rumbling voice washed over her. "I didn't intend to startle you. You slipped on the floor, smacked your head on the sink. I brought you out here to the couch to recover."
Cassie turned her head slowly, following the voice back to her rocking chair—the one she'd vacated earlier. The fire was burning bright, flames leaping into the air from the stacked wood.
A man sat there, watching her.
Long, dark hair fell over his shoulders, long enough to be pulled into a ponytail if needed. His bare chest was visible through the gaps, toned abdominal muscles on full view. A blanket covered his lap, taken from the back of her couch.
She might have fainted, but she wasn't dead. A slow burn started inside her as she stared at the stranger, taking in the dark brown eyes, the gentle smile touching his lips.
If she was hallucinating, she had excellent taste.
Still...
Her gaze went to her phone, sitting on the table beside the mystery man. Barely out of reach...
"I think not." He tilted his head to one side, giving her a wistful shake. "I'm sorry, but I can't have you calling the police on me. Besides, on Christmas morning—likelier than not, they'll think you're drunk and ignore it."
"Can't blame me for trying," she said.
Her attention fell on his left leg, peeking out from under the blanket.
No.
Way.
The cut wasn't deep, the pink skin standing out—showing the healing process was well underway. But it was in the exact same place where the otter had been injured.
She drew a deep breath, trying to collect her thoughts.
He looked down, following her stare. "Ah, yes. Thanks for your help—it would have healed anyway, but it was really nice to relax in your bathtub. A lot more comfortable than lying in the mud or floating in the water." He smacked his lips. "The tuna was lovely. Really helped boost my healing with the protein."
Cassie couldn't help studying his mouth as he spoke, still coming to terms with the obvious.
"You're an otter. And a man." She fought to find the words. "A shapeshifter, right?"
The phrase rolled around her mouth like marbles, turning her thoughts to cotton.
"Yes. Name's Alec Riverstorm. Pleased to meet you, Cassie."
She pushed herself up into a sitting position, painfully aware of the insanity swirling around her. "How do you know my name?"
"I've seen you around over the years," he said. "You, your parents—anyone who walks by the river. You talk, I listen and learn." Alec smiled.
Cassie rubbed the back of her neck. "I see." She gave him a slight nod. "Thank you for taking care of me."
"My fault totally." He got up from the chair, letting the blanket fall. "I shouldn't have surprised you like that. I didn't even see the water on the floor—must have splashed some of it out of the tub when I changed. Glad it wasn't worse." He advanced on her, taking his time as he crossed the floor.
All the air left her lungs as she stared at him, the slip of what she assumed now to be otter pelt covering his groin.
It confirmed her previous assessment—Alec had a swimmer's body, toned and taut from head to toe.
The heat that had been simmering in her veins kicked up a thousand degrees. There was still a bit of a limp in his walk, showing the wound hadn't totally healed.
He paused, gesturing at the sofa. "May I sit down?"
"Sure." It seemed like the only thing to say.
"Thanks—if you don't mind, I'd like to check you over, make sure you're not dealing with a major concussion." He took hold of her face, thumbs brushing over her cheeks. Locking eyes with her, Alec nodded.
"Pupils look good—no difference between them. Any headache? Any pain?"
She reached back and touched the swollen knot at the side of her head, wincing. "Other than when I touch that, no."
"Glad to hear it." He studied her face. "I'm not a doctor, but if you feel nauseous, sing out, and we'll call 911." He followed her gaze down to her injured leg. "As you can see, I'm still not ready to go back in the water."