The Coyote’s Athlete Alpha Preview

Chapter 1

Cal

I dropped my younger brother Connor off at home, still stewing from the dressing down I’d given him, then tore over to the old Macleod place. sure as shit, the “for sale” sign that had been planted at the end of the long gravel drive had a big, red “SOLD” slapped over it.

Well, fuck.

I pulled my pickup onto what counted as a shoulder out here, slapped on the hazards, and put it in park. I hopped down out of the truck before I realized what I was doing.

It wasn’t like I was going to meet anyone out here—Cam had been talking to Lisa Peterson, the real estate agent, probably a couple of days ago now, and the place had already been sold. It wasn’t like the agent was out here, or the buyer. And I knew for a fact the seller wouldn’t be here—old Mr. Macleod was in a home, and his daughter, Sarah, was in charge of the estate. I wasn’t sure if Macleod had kicked the bucket or if Sarah had simply needed to sell the place we called the Orchard to free up funds.

Didn’t matter, in the end. Fact of the matter was that she’d sold it, and now I had a problem on my hands. Our land backed onto the Orchard, and there had been some … disagreement … about exactly where the property line was over the years. Dad had told me the argument went back probably a hundred and fifty years or so, to when Dr. Carlyle and his wife had bought what we now called Rocky Ridge.

I could ask for a survey, especially since the property had been sold. I’d thought about doing it before, but Dad had reached some kind of deal with Mr. Macleod. Then, when Macleod had moved to the home, nobody had been at the Orchard, so it hadn’t mattered all that much.

Now, though …

“Fuck,” I muttered, kicking at some of the loose stones on the road. I jammed my hands in my pockets, glancing around. It was high summer, and insects buzzed lazily around, static invading my ears, making it hard to think. I huffed.

We sometimes used the Orchard to run, often on holidays when the Carlyle pack got back together—not just us brothers, but the whole damn family.

The Fourth of July was one of those times, and that was just a couple of weeks away. I glowered at the sign. What would I tell everyone?

Macleod hadn’t done much about a pack of coyote shifters running loose on his land. I wasn’t sure what the new owner would do. Where once almost everyone who would have even thought about moving to Coyote Creek was a shifter, there were no guarantees these days. More and more humans had been moving to our little town, and that meant more and more people we needed to hide our existence from.

Would the new owner know about shifters? Even that didn’t help: some shifters weren’t friendly to others. I’d

need time to get to know this new owner and come to an agreement with them before I could safely let any of our pack members run through the Orchard again. While a human might not have thought a pack of coyotes running wild across their land as trespassing, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t take a shotgun to us. Case in point: three months back, Bobby Lam had shot Cam while he was running around in his fur. Granted, Cam had been scaring Lam’s flock for months straight before that happened, but the point stood.

A new owner at the Orchard might not take so long to resort to violence, and it didn’t matter if they were shifter or human.

I sighed. What a goddamn headache.

Maybe I’d get lucky and the new owner wouldn’t take possession of the property until after the Fourth, and then I could think about what to do until Thanksgiving. Give myself some time to figure this all out.

I clambered back into the cab and took myself into the tiny town of Coyote Creek proper. I had some banking to do—I was moving some funds around since Cam had depleted his trust fund with this house purchase, and the property taxes were due—and I’d figured I’d pick up some groceries, since Cody and Connor were eating me out of house and home. I’d forgotten how ravenous teenage coyote shifters were.

I decided to drop in on Lisa Peterson as well. Her offices were in an old red brick building. Despite the late nineteenth-century facade, the place felt disgustingly modern: Lisa had flat screens in the windows, displaying the local listings. An empty lot here, a tiny cottage there, one of the big ranches being severed. The usual. I stepped inside, instantly hit with a blast of icy air conditioning from an old unit that was rattling away above the door. The dark, faux wood floor was too shiny under the afternoon sun. The receptionist, Nina, looked up, then readjusted her glasses. “Cal?” she asked, blinking.

We’d gone to school together. More than that, though, Nina was one of the many shifters who called Coyote Creek home. Her family had been here for ages—maybe as long as mine had. We knew each other’s secret.

Nina walked around the desk, her low heels clacking. The opossum shifter had always been a round sort, but she’d filled out even more since we’d left school—she assured me six kids would do that to a body. I couldn’t fathom having six kids, although I supposed my parents had raised seven of us boys.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asked, tilting her head. Her hand hovered, like she wanted to put it on my arm or something.

Christ, I must have looked a fright if she thought she needed to touch me. We were friendly—maybe even friends—but Nina was not a touchy-feely sort, and neither was I.

“The old Macleod place,” I blurted.

Nina’s dark eyes widened. “Ah,” she said. “Hang on. Let me get Lisa.”

Lisa Peterson was a tall, thin woman with sandy blond hair and doe eyes—fitting, since she was a deer shifter. She’d kicked the shit out of me in the sixth grade, and I hadn’t bothered messing with her since.

She still had a no-nonsense air about her, which served her well in this market. A lot of the old ranches and farms were going up for sale as our population aged, and she was attracting all kinds of people with too goddamn much money.

Today, she was wearing a smart, light blue suit. She folded her arms as she walked out of her office. “Cal Carlyle,” she said, arching a brow, “c’mon in. You gonna sell your place yet?”

“Not on your life,” I huffed, following her into her office. She closed the door behind us. The Carlyles had lived at Rocky Ridge for ages now, and I wasn’t gonna be the idiot who got us into so much financial trouble we lost the ranch.

Besides, the land was sacred to my family—er, well, maybe my ancestors. Dr. John Carlyle’s wife was Molly Pretty Feather, and she was the reason we were all coyote shifters. Dad had warned us against considering ourselves Native American at this point—I vaguely remembered Cam blathering on to someone about how he was one thirty-second Indian to someone when he was in the third grade, which was probably what brought on that particular lecture—but point was Molly and John had bought Rocky Ridge to try and save some of Molly’s home territory for her people.

And I’d be damned if I lost it or ever sold it. Couldn’t trust that anyone else would keep even that small slice of territory for a people who had been run off their own land. Us Carlyles might not have called ourselves Native American, but we were kindred, and Rocky Ridge was always open to our kindred.

“I heard the old Macleod place sold,” I said as I settled in a chair on the opposite side of Lisa’s desk. “Oh,” she said, arching a brow. “Didn’t know you were interested in the place.”

In hindsight, I should have been. Should have snapped it up the second it came on the market. That would have neatly solved my little dilemma and expanded Rocky Ridge as a sanctuary for coyote shifters to run free.

Hindsight’s twenty-twenty and all that. “Who bought it?” I asked.

Lisa clucked her tongue. “Now, Cal, I’m not gonna tell you about the buyer. Besides, you’ll meet him soon enough—he takes possession next week.”

“Next week.” I was almost ashamed about how much of a whimper it came out as. “That’s a quick close.”

Lisa turned those big, dark eyes on me, that eyebrow still arched in a sarcastic question. She toyed with the big faux pearls around her neck. “Of course, that’s assuming the property is free and clear …?”

I cleared my throat. “Yeah—yeah. I … just … there’s an old question about the property line.”

“Oh,” Lisa said, frowning as she turned back to her computer. She typed for a moment. “I don’t see any-thing about that here. Sarah Macleod didn’t ask to have the place surveyed, and the buyer hasn’t asked for it either.”

I sighed. “Well, according to family lore, there was some … negotiating done.”

She pressed her lips together. “I really would have appreciated your mentioning this before, Cal.”

I sighed. “I know, I know. I just …” I waved a hand. “I didn’t expect it to sell so quick.”

Lisa almost smirked at me. “Well,” she said, “I think you can talk to the town about getting the property surveyed—or you can talk to the new owner.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, seeing that for the dismissal it was. There was nothing Lisa could—or would—do for me. Figuring out where the property line sat was up to me, the new owner, and the town of Coyote Creek.

I rubbed my forehead, then stuck out my other hand. “Thanks for your time.”

Lisa ignored my hand and opened the office door. “Pleasure,” she said. “Let me know if you ever want to sell or sever some of the ranch.”

I snorted. “Never gonna happen, Lisa.”

She smiled. “A gal can dream—you’ve got the most enviable location.”

“I know,” I replied, “and I’m not looking to let it go anytime soon.” I gave her a curt nod, then headed back out of the office.

Nina gave me a smile and a wave. “See you soon,” she said.

I smiled tightly. “See ya around.”

I got back in the truck, started her up, and headed for home. My other errands could wait.