Bad Dog

By Tielle St. Clare

Let’s call it an early mid-life crisis!

Quincy needs some space—he quits his job, breaks up with his boyfriend and heads to a cabin in the woods. He plans to spend a few weeks alone figuring out his future. Finding two adorable wolf pups and their sexy owner tosses that plan out the window. He’s on the rebound, right? That’s the perfect time for a vacation fling and delicious dog-Dad Caleb fills that position perfectly.

He’d do anything to protect his family!

When a stranger moves in to the cabin at the base of Caleb’s mountain, alarm bells go off. Yes, the man is cute and yes, his kids love him. The last time Caleb got involved with a human, he ended up getting kicked out of his Pack, exiled with his friends and constantly on watch. Hooking up with a human wasn’t worth it. Maybe.

This is book 1 of the Denali Pack Exiles—getting kicked out of the Pack might be the best thing to ever happen to them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tielle St. Clare
• Release date: Feb 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463901045

Book preview

Bad Dog

by Tielle St. Clare

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2020 T. L. Green

Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill / EDHGraphics

All rights are reserved. This e-book is licensed for individual readership only. No portion of this e-book may be resold or redistributed in any format.

To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at www.authortiellestclare.com

Author’s Note

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and events are creations of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter One

Quincy Baines tightened the grip on his phone, squeezing the case so hard he swore the screen would shatter. With his free hand, he scraped his fingers through his hair and tugged on the strands just to feel the twinge of pain while he struggled not to scream.

I think this trip is a good idea, Martin said in the smooth, logical voice that had started to drive Quincy slowly insane over the past six months. You’ll get some perspective and when you return, we can sit down and re-establish some ground rules of our relationship.

Martin, there isn’t a relationship. We broke up.

I understand you’re under a lot of stress, Martin continued as if Quincy had never spoken. What with losing your job and—

I quit my job. I didn’t lose it.

I think taking a little time to reevaluate your goals is a smart decision.

Quincy pulled on his hair harder but realized, based on his father’s pattern baldness, he should be careful with every strand he had. Except wait, isn’t baldness passed down through the maternal side? Uncle Benny has a full head of hair. Letting Martin ramble on, Quincy mentally flipped through his mother’s brothers and father. His grandfather had died before Quincy was born. He hadn’t—

I spoke with Clinton and he’s willing to hold your job for a month.

His brain skidded to a halt.

You talked to my boss?

I had to. He called here, thinking you’d resigned. I told him you’d be back soon. You just needed a break. That you were having a minor personal crisis but you would return from your retreat in a week with new energy and you would be ready to get back to work. Giving up a well-paying job is irresponsible and I know you. You would never be this irresponsible.

Listen, Martin—Martin. Stop talking, Martin. This time he broke through his ex’s inane rambling. I’m not going back to work for Clinton. I’m not sure what I’m going to do but I know it won’t be that. He heard a little burp as if Martin was trying to interrupt. And stop telling people I’m having a crisis.

"Babe, it is a crisis and it’s normal. All men go through this. You’re just having your midlife crisis at an early age."

You sound like my mother.

She and I discussed this and—

Why are you talking to my mother?

We only want what’s best for you. Why don’t you tell me where this cabin is. I’ll come pick you up. We can sit down and have a rational, adult discussion about responsibilities and expectations and—

Goodbye, Martin. Don’t call me again. He tapped the screen of his phone. Almost immediately—just enough time for Martin to realize Quincy had hung up on him—Martin’s ringtone chimed. Quincy dismissed the call and slammed the phone face down on the table.

Damn Deacon for owning a cabin with cell service.

He grimaced at his thoughts. Deacon had done him a huge favor by offering his cabin. It was his own fault for answering the damn thing when it rang.

Speaking of which, he should call Deacon and let him know where he was. Deacon purchased the cabin six months ago and told Quincy he was free to use it at any time—particularly if he needed to escape Martin. Deacon had laughed when he said it but had still given Quincy a key.

Six months. He should have done this then, instead of living six more months with a man he had no future with. Hell, he’d kind of known the truth two years ago when he moved in. At the time, it had seemed like the responsible, adult thing to do.

Screw being an adult if it meant living with a man who sucked. Or didn’t suck actually. That was one problem.

Quincy tapped Deacon’s name on his screen and waited. When his best friend didn’t answer, Quincy left a message. Hey there. When you get home you’ll notice I’m not sleeping on your couch. I needed to get out of town. I decided to take you up on the offer of the cabin. The climb up the hill was a bitch, but hey, good calf workout. Martin’s still calling. Don’t tell him where I’m at. Asshole just doesn’t get it. Talk to you later.

He hung up and did a slow scan of the living room-kitchen combo. The rough-hewn walls and secondhand furniture were a bit rustic for his taste. At least he thought so. The past two years he’d adapted his preferences to Martin’s. Martin didn’t own anything that wasn’t an antique or would eventually become an antique.

Quincy preferred clean lines and bright colors.

The cabin held none of these but he wouldn’t be here forever. Just a few weeks to get his head on straight. Martin had been right when he’d said Quincy was having a minor personal crisis. More like a massive crisis. Thirty-two years old and he didn’t feel like he’d started his life yet. He’d stumbled into a job right out of college and ended up working there for ten years. Even his relationship with Martin happened without any specific decision on his part. One date led to two because he couldn’t think of a reason to say no, and five months later, he’d found himself moving in.

His family loved Martin. Owned his own office supply company. He was smart and rich.

Quincy had to admit he would miss the lifestyle he’d lived with Martin. Quincy had money stashed away, but he might not be able to afford a penthouse apartment. Not if he wanted to fulfill his own dreams.

He just had to figure out what those dreams were.

The phone rang from the kitchen table.

Steeling his spine, Quincy turned and stalked to the front door, opening it before habit made him grab his cell. He couldn’t quite bring himself to turn his phone off—it went against every instinct in his soul—but he could walk away.

He stepped on the porch, closed the door behind him and took a long breath. The deep scent of pine filled his lungs and whispered into the tiny corners of his body. Every muscle relaxed a little. Progress. He blinked and looked at the tops of the trees. The sun skimmed through the branches, giving enough light but not blinding.

Okay, I’m here to find my future, to figure out what my life is going to be.

I think I’ll take a nap.

He whipped around—his destination the large bed in the single bedroom—and opened the cabin door. Martin’s ringtone echoed from the table.

Nope. Quincy spun back around, slamming the door with him on the outside. I’ll go for a walk. The idea settled in his brain. Walk. Through the woods. He could do this. It was basic. Elemental. He was part of the land.

Ha!

He allowed himself a smile as he started along the path that led down the hill. Deacon said there were extensive trails around the cabin and despite the fact Quincy wasn’t much of an outdoorsman, he was determined to take advantage of the location. Push beyond his comfort zone.

A breeze whispered across his cheek. He paused and looked up. Trees covered most of the skyline. The sun shone, but between the evergreens a heavy black cloud hovered in the distance. Earlier in the day, during the drive and half-mile hike to the cabin, the sun had beat down on his back. Looked like a storm brewed to the north.

He wasn’t one to enjoy storms. He’d—mostly—outgrown the urge to cower beneath the covers. Mostly.

He wouldn’t go far today but a little exploration would be a good thing. The nearest neighbors—according to Deacon—lived a mile away, up the hill. Quincy guided his feet in the opposite direction. When Deacon first bought the cabin, the real estate agent advised him the neighbors were reclusive.

Deacon’s precise description to Quincy had been, They aren’t friendly but aren’t dangerous.

Quincy shook his head. Who felt compelled to say the neighbors weren’t dangerous? Someone who lived next to a motorcycle gang?

Still, it didn’t matter. He was there to commune with nature, rediscover his fundamental self. Not that his fundamental self spent much time with nature. He hiked on gravel paths. Walked in the park.

He’d never camped in his life. He’d avoided the bug- and dirt-infested activity with his scout group when he’d announced—at the brash age of twelve—he was gay and wouldn’t be part of an organization that discriminated against people like him.

He grinned at the memory of his mother’s wide eyes. She’d dragged him to the car and demanded he tell her whether he really was gay or if he’d just said it to get out of camping. He’d assured her he was gay.

It hadn’t been for another couple of years when she’d found him necking with the junior varsity quarterback she’d completely believed him. After that scene, she hadn’t had much choice.

His fingers twitched as he walked down the path, thinking he could text Deacon and remind him of the story. Deacon had been the quarterback in question and they’d managed to stay friends.

But Quincy’s fingers came up empty. That’s right. He’d left his phone on the table. Damn. His feet slowed as if some impulse wouldn’t allow him to move a certain distance away from his cell without his head exploding.

He pushed on. This was good. No phone, no distractions. Only his thoughts, his dreams.

Quincy scoffed. He didn’t seem to have any dreams.

His childhood fantasy had been of a strong man who would love him, support him. They could have a couple of kids. Admittedly, as a teenager, he wasn’t quite sure how that would work but as an adult he knew adoption or surrogacy were options. Martin had no interest in kids. He wanted a bigger apartment, maybe buy a boat—even though Quincy once got queasy while staring at a picture of the ocean.

The illusion of a white picket fence and two-point-four children had faded over the years. Died.

No. Quincy gave himself a shake. It didn’t have to die, not if he didn’t want it to. He could adopt. He would have to figure out how he would deal with childcare and college funds.

He could work from home, that would make things easier.

Taking part of his student loan money and investing in Deacon’s start-up had been a smart decision. The app Deacon developed had taken off. Over the years, Quincy funneled all his earnings from that into other investments. He had a cushion to rely on.

Funny. He’d never told Martin about that money.

He brushed off thoughts of his past and turned to his future. He didn’t have to work immediately but finding something to keep him busy while he investigated adoption would be a good idea.

Hope sparked within his chest—energy he hadn’t experienced in years. He could do this. He could take control of his life. Adopt a couple of kids. Work from home.

He didn’t want to work for Clinton but he’d left on good terms. Hopefully, his ex-boss would give him a good recommendation.

Part of his brain urged him to return to the cabin, grab his phone and tune into Deacon’s Wi-Fi, do a little research on adoption.

But no. He was there to experience nature, reconnect. He had time later to delve into the realities of his future.

Future. Kids. Play dates. The white picket fence might be a bit too cliché.

He would—

A high-pitched whine broke through his thoughts. He spun around, scanning the space, his body tensing as he prepared for attack. The whine