The pilot, who'd followed them out and had been engaged in some sort of maintenance, grinned at that. "Never thought I'd see that old Indian so worked up."
Charles gave him a look, and the pilot dropped his eyes, but not the grin. "Hey, don't glare at me-and here I got you home, safe and sound. Nearly as well as you could have done it, eh, Charles?"
"Thank you, Hank." Bran turned to Anna. "Hank has to button down the plane, so we'll go warm up the truck." He put his hand under her elbow as they stepped out of the protection of the hangar into ten inches of snow. Charles growled; Bran growled back in exasperation. "Enough. Enough. I have no designs on your lady, and the ground is rough."
Charles stopped making noise, but he walked so close to Anna that she found herself bumping into Bran because she didn't want to hurt Charles. Bran steadied her and frowned at the werewolf beside her but didn't say anything more.
Other than the hangar, airstrip, and two ruts in the deep snow where someone had recently driven a car, there was virtually no sign of civilization. The mountains were impressive, taller, darker, and rougher than the soft Midwest hills she knew. She could smell woodsmoke though, so they couldn't be as isolated as it looked.
"I thought it would be quieter here." She hadn't meant to say anything, but the noise startled her.
"The wind in the trees," Bran said. "And there are some birds that stay year-round. Sometimes when the wind is still and the cold is upon us, the quiet is so deep you can feel it in your bones." It sounded creepy to her, but she could tell from his voice that he loved it.
Bran walked them around behind the hangar, where a snow-covered gray crew-cab truck waited for them. He reached into the truck bed, pulled out a broom, and banged it good and hard on the ground to dislodge snow.
"Go ahead and get in," he said. "Why don't you start the truck so it can warm up. The keys are in the ignition." He brushed snow off the passenger door and held it open for her.
She put her box on the floor of the cab, and climbed in. The box made sliding across the leather seat to the driver's seat a little awkward. Charles hopped in after her and snagged the door with a paw so it shut. His fur was wet, but after her initial flinch, she found that he generated a lot of body heat. The truck purred to life, blowing cold air all over the cab. As soon as she was sure it would keep running, she slid to the middle seat.
When the truck was mostly cleared of snow, Bran tossed the broom back into the truck bed and hopped into the driver's seat. "Hank shouldn't be much longer." He took in her shivering form and frowned at her. "We'll get you a warmer coat and some boots appropriate to the winter here. Chicago isn't exactly tropical-you should have better winter gear than that."
While he was talking, Charles stepped over her, forcing her to move to the outside passenger seat. He settled between them, but in order to fit, half of him draped over her lap.
"Had to pay the electric, gas, water, and rent," she said lightly. "Oof, Charles, you weigh a ton. We waitresses don't earn enough for luxuries."
The back door opened, and Hank climbed in and put on his seat belt before blowing on his hands. "That old wind has quite a bite to it."
"Time to get home," Bran agreed, putting the truck into drive and starting out, though if he followed a road, it was buried under the snow. "I'll drop off Charles and his mate first."
"Mate?" She had her face forward, but it was impossible to miss the surprise in Hank's voice. "No wonder the old man is so worked up. Man alive, Charles, that was some fast work. And she's pretty, too."
And she didn't appreciate being spoken of as if she weren't there, either. Even if she was too intimidated to say so.
Charles turned his head toward Hank and lifted a lip to show some very sharp teeth.
The pilot laughed. "All right, all right. But nice work, man."
It was only then that her nose told her something she hadn't realized on the plane: Hank wasn't a werewolf. And he clearly knew that Charles was.
"I thought we weren't supposed to tell anyone," she said.
"Tell them what?" Bran asked.
She glanced back at Hank. "Tell them what we are."
"Oh, this is Aspen Creek," Hank answered her. "Every-one knows about werewolves. If you haven't married one, you were fathered by one-or one of your parents was. This is the Marrok's territory, and we're one big, happy family." Was there sarcasm in his voice? She didn't know him well enough to tell for certain.
The air blowing in her face had warmed up, finally. Between that and Charles, she was starting to feel less like an ice cube.
"I thought that werewolves have no family, only pack," she ventured.
Bran glanced at her before looking back to the road. "You and Charles need to have a long talk. How long have you been a werewolf?"
"Three years."
He frowned. "Do you have a family?"
"My father and brother. I haven't seen them since..." She shrugged. "Leo told me I had to break all ties to them- or else he'd assume they were a risk to the pack." And kill them.
Bran frowned. "Outside of Aspen Creek, wolves can't tell anyone except their spouses what they are-we allow that for their spouses' safety. But you don't need to isolate yourself from your family." Almost to himself, he said, "I suppose Leo was afraid your family might interfere with what he was trying to do to you."
She could call her family? She almost asked Bran about it, but decided to wait and talk to Charles instead.
* * * *
Like the plane ride, Charles's house was different than she'd expected. Somehow, since it was in the backwoods of Montana, she'd thought he'd live in one of those big log houses, or something old, like the pack's mansion. But the house where Bran dropped them off was not huge or made of logs. Instead, it looked like a simple ranch-style house, painted a rather pleasing combination of gray and green. It was tucked up against the side of a hill and looked out over a series of fenced pastures occupied by a few horses.
She waved a thank-you at Bran as he drove off. Then she carried her box, which was looking a little bedraggled since it had gotten wet on the floor of the truck, up the steps, with Charles skulking at her heel. There was a light covering of snow over the steps, though it was obvious that usually it was kept shoveled off.
She had a bad moment when she realized that she'd forgotten to ask Bran to unlock the door-but the knob turned easily under her hand. She supposed that if everyone in Aspen Creek knew about werewolves, they'd know better than to steal something from one. Still, to her city-bred self, it seemed odd for Charles to leave his house unlocked while he traveled halfway across the country.