Welcome to Morningwood #7
A young man with a turbulent past meets the only man with a hand steady enough to tame him.
Seamus is a nineteen-year-old falcon shifter with a bad reputation, just ask anyone. Growing up in the insulated all-shifter town of Morningwood, there isn't a person around who doesn't remember each of his mistakes and they aren't afraid to throw them in his face at every chance. He'd leave town entirely if it weren't for his little brother and his stupid hope that Morningwood is where he belongs.
Leo Thibodeaux recently returned to Morningwood after his father died, leaving the leadership of the rabbit clan up to Leo. Widowed and a single father, Leo tries to do the best he can for his son, his pack, and his town.
When Seamus nearly burns down Morningwood University, he's given a choice, go to jail or do the repairs under the tutelage of Leo. Seamus expects Leo to treat him like everyone else does, but amazingly, while Leo does command respect, he doesn't look down his nose at Seamus. It doesn't take long for Seamus to realize that Leo isn't at all like the others. He makes Seamus feel protected, like he can turn his life around, he can be a friend, a better brother, a mate.
Leo recognizes that the timing isn't ideal. He was meant to mentor Seamus, but there is nothing he can do when the beast inside him recognizes his mate. They agree to keep their relationship behind closed doors, at least until the repairs can be done, but even that comes with its own risk.
Meanwhile, there's a spooky mystery in Morningwood. Someone—or something—is digging up old bones from the local cemetery and leaving them around town. It sounds like a stunt Seamus might have pulled, but this time he's innocent. But as his past deeds place him under suspicion, Seamus knows the true culprit must be found, or he'll lose everything.
Pumpkin Cream Pie is the seventh book in the Welcome to Morningwood series. It can absolutely be read as a standalone for total enjoyment and features an age gap romance, a new and steamy way to eat pumpkin cream pie, themes of family and redemption as well as all the sexy, sultry, fun you expect from Morningwood!
Again, I haven't read all the entries yet but of the ones I have, I think I can safely say this was my favorite. We met both Seamus and Leo previously, in small increments but certainly not new to me completely. Seamus ran with a tough crowd and it was easy to have a preconceived impression of the lad but as we all know, everyone has secrets or at least parts of themselves others don't see and it's those parts that can add a heck of a lot of context to what we thought we knew. I actually found both guys very easy to like but that doesn't mean I didn't want to smack their heads together a couple of times to make them open up more.
As for Leo, he might come across as too good, or at least Seamus thinks so and expects to see what Leo hides from everyone once the doors are closed. The big surprise is Leo isn't really hiding anything but that doesn't mean he doesn't jump to conclusions like practically everyone else in Morningwood at some point(I won't spoil anything with more specifics here). It was at this time I wanted to perhaps give Leo a bit more than smack but lets face it, if everything and everyone was super open and super good fiction would be a lot shorter.
I love the blending of healing, hurting, attraction, mystery, and heart that Kiki Burrelli brings to the table in Pumpkin Cream Pie, the whole Welcome to Morningwood series really. Sometimes earning and keeping one's trust is at the heart of a story but it's the effects it leaves on the characters that suck you in and I really think that is what Pumpkin Cream Pie is all about: trust. And sometimes its trusting the author to bring it all together that keeps the reader on the edge of their seat and I found that to be very true here. I look forward to experiencing the other entries in the series as time allows me to.
Chapter One
Seamus
I kept to the shadows, slinking forward silently with a gas can in one hand and the rest of the party stuffed in a bag I carried on my shoulder. The Morningwood University sign loomed ahead, directly in front of admissions. I snarled. I was here for my brother, Shiloh, but really, this place deserved what I was about to give them. I just had to make a quick stop before I could avenge my little brother.
Directly behind the Morningwood University campus, the Morningwood Cemetery sat surrounded by a wrought-iron fence that did nothing to keep people out. I could've shifted and flown over, had I wanted to, but I was here to make a deposit and couldn't fly carrying my bag. I dropped the can beside the spot in the fence where the ground was low enough to slide under. Had I been a big, beefy alpha, that small space might have been too tight, but I slipped right under, reaching through the bars for my bag as I stood on the other side.
I shivered, gazing at the winding, uneven rows. This section was the final resting place of the first Morningwood citizens, before the all-shifter town had been established and the people had relied on the isolation of the mountain for protection from wandering normies. I liked it better here, where the vines were taking over and the lines between tombs were less manicured. This was also where I'd discovered my best hiding spot. After my mom had started having my room searched when I was in high school, whenever I had a surplus of product, I came here to hide it. Even though it was spooky, it was the perfect hiding spot since not a lot of people had a reason to be on this side of the cemetery, the fear factor kept out most of the punks, and this way, if my mom ever went all big-brother-this-is-the-police-open-up on me again, I wouldn't be left scrambling to cover for my stolen stash.
I stooped down at good old Zachariah Smith's grave. He was considered a founding father of Morningwood. But to me, he was more of a friend. A friend with a massive statue of an eagle, perched on the branch of a tree as his tombstone. I slid out the bottom brick, grabbed the triple-wrapped parcel from my bag, and shoved it back as far as it would go. I slipped the brick back into place, grabbed the pint of Black Crow whiskey I'd swiped from the store, and swallowed with a wince. The whiskey didn't go down smoothly, but I concentrated on the burn. Heat radiated from my gut, fortifying my limbs with that manic energy I only got while I was drinking. "Thanks, Zachariah, see you in a bit."
I had a school to burn down.
I went back under the fence, pausing to light my joint before picking up the gas can—I'd made that mistake before—and made my way back around to the entrance of the school. My little brother was the only thing that mattered to me. He'd been so excited when he'd gotten into Morningwood University early, but the kid was a quiet genius.
I was once like Shiloh. Not a genius, but I'd listened to the adults around me and given college a shot. They'd said that college was different from everything else, that people were too busy to bully me like they had all through grade school and high school. But college hadn't turned out any differently than everything else in my life. I'd been looked down on with pity, judgment, or suspicion. So I'd quit. I made more money selling weed and heat enhancers to the college kids who used to just look down on me anyway.
I didn't care what they thought about me, and I sure as fuck didn't need their pity, but Shiloh was still kind. He was nice and looked at people like they were telling him the truth. When I'd gotten home this afternoon to him crying, I'd seen red. He told me he needed a class for his degree. I didn't ask about what or why—that didn't matter. The only thing that did was that apparently there was a pompous professor who wouldn't let Shiloh register.
Let's see how much he enjoys teaching that class on a campus of ash.
Fueled by my anger, I ripped the cap off the gas can, turning it over as the gasoline glug-glugged out and onto the sign, soaking the posts and ground. The thick fumes filled my nose, and I stumbled back as if suddenly realizing what I was about to do. The sign was huge, wider than I was tall. I clenched the pint of whiskey and took several more fortifying gulps. Instantly, my courage shot up. With alcohol, I felt like I could conquer the world. Without it, I was just scared. I took another long drink, poured the rest of the bottle over the ground, and then flicked the spent end of my joint to the ground.
The gasoline ignited, and the flames spread quickly, engulfing not just the posts, but the ground, where it lit the dry leaves circling the base of a large tree. As the tree went up in flames, the fire glowed off the admissions building's walls. Fire raced down the tree branches, lighting the dried leaves that had yet to fall. The flames were close enough now that the admissions entrance began to smoke. You're next.
I retrieved a second joint from my bag and used the flame from the burning sign to light the end. I didn't usually dip into my own supply this much, but this was a celebration. For as much as the world felt like it was spinning out of control, flinging people out of your arms and lives without care or concern for who was left behind, it was during these moments that I felt like it wasn't all too much.
I inhaled deep, coughing so hard on the exhale my eyes were watering by the time I noticed flashing red and blue lights. "Fuck."
My first instinct was to shift and fly. Being a falcon had its advantages. But I couldn't carry my big bag and gas can in my falcon form, and if I left it behind, they'd find out it was me when they searched the belongings. I gathered my things quietly and waited, listening to the tires crunch over gravel as the car neared. If I waited for that awkward time when whoever was there was getting out of their car, I might be able to make it. I tensed, hearing more rustling, and then the doors opened.
I ran.
My feet pounded against the dirt, the breath already coming fast in my chest. My heart pounded. I was a good flier, but still loved running. I wasn't sure if I had a knack for it or if I'd just gotten so much practice over the years. Either way, I was almost home free. There was a small creek up ahead. I could toss my things into the water, trust the current to take them, and fly away. Later, I would go back and search for my backpack. I'd just have to hope no one found it before then.
I readied my things so I could toss and shift, but before I could, my shirt went tight, and my forward momentum suddenly stopped. I gasped, the collar tightening on my throat like fingers. Instantly, I fought against the feeling, scratching, kicking, and hitting whatever was keeping the air from my body.
"Stop resisting," the officer grunted, grabbing one wrist and then the other.
He wrenched them behind my back as I spewed a stream of curse words. I wasn't sure what I was saying toward the end, but I knew it wasn't nice.
"He's got a mouth on him."
"Does your mother know you're out here?" Deputy Flint asked after he'd slapped cuffs around my wrists.
At the mention of my mother, my stomach twisted. She'd been so angry the last time I'd gotten arrested, she told me to not bother coming home until I got my act together. "I'm nineteen," I grunted.
"You're a disgrace, that's what you are." Deputy Lidell spat. "Your mother bends over backwards for you two. How do you repay her? By being a delinquent." He looked back at the orange glow of the fire I'd started. There were sirens—the fire department pulling up. So much for a university of ashes. Still, a tiny part of me was relieved my plan had failed. Sometimes I was angrier than I was anything else. I would never say as much, but sometimes even I was disappointed when my plans ended up working.
Right then I wasn't. At that moment, my arms hurt, my head felt a little fuzzy—likely thanks to the weed and booze—and a cold ball of unease had formed in my stomach. Deputy Flint jerked on my arms, pulling me to the squad car. He shoved me in the back seat—not bothering to shield the side of my head before it slammed into the edge of the doorway.
While the pain from that pounded in my skull, the deputies went back to confer with the firemen.
By the time Deputy Flint and Lidell returned to the car, the blaze was mostly out. I should've used two cans of gas. The welcome sign looked charred, but the admin building still stood. They started the car without a word to me, driving us the few minutes to the Morningwood Police Department. In a small town like ours, the police department, jail, and Elite Force offices all shared the same building with the town's morgue, where my mother worked when there was a crime-related death. The rest of the time, she was at the hospital a few blocks over. It had to be after midnight at the moment, though, so she was most likely home.
"Is your mother worried about you?" the deputy asked after showing me my room.
This wasn't my first time in a cell, and I greeted the hard cot, single open-air toilet, and sink fondly. "No," I growled. She was too busy to keep constant tabs on me and my brother, and she'd been working a late shift today.
"Good. I'll keep it that way. You can rest here for the night—"
"I have rights! You can't keep me here!"
"Overnight? While we're understaffed and running behind?" He made a point of looking to the left and right, highlighting the fact that we were the only ones there. "I am well within my rights, Seamus. You didn't just spray paint on a wall tonight, kid. You tried to burn down the university. A few more minutes and you might have been successful. This can't be swept under a rug because your mom is important to this town."
"I don't need my mom solving my problems," I snarled.
"And yet…" the deputy responded tiredly. "Talking to you is like talking to an angry wall. I don't know what happened to make you so mad at the world, but tonight, you may have taken it one step too far. Tell me, how sad is your mom going to be when I go through the contents of your bag?"
No sadder than normal. I was her firstborn failure after all. I folded my arms, knowing better than to admit to anything.
Deny, deny, deny. I wasn't there that night; that wasn't my gas can.
This wasn't my life.
***
I woke up the next morning to the sound of my mom's voice. Shrill with panic, she demanded to see me. The deputy led her back as I was sitting up, stretching the sleep from my arms and legs. She scowled at me through the bars before coming to a stop directly in front of the door.
I looked at her and tried to remember back when she didn't have so many tired lines on her face. She used to look at me and smile. Now, her face was just pinched with worry. "What in God's name were you thinking, Seamus?" she asked, pressing a handkerchief to her nose.
Was she sick? Or crying? Shouldn't I know?
"That idiot professor is being a dick to Shiloh for no reason! He thinks he's better than us? He made Shiloh cry!" Though I understood my initial reasons, now that I was explaining them to my mom, I wasn't so sure what my plan had been. This was always happening. Things seemed like the right plan in the moment, and then after, I always regretted it.
So I drank or smoked to get rid of the regret, which just led to more bad choices. Rinse and repeat until the end of the world.
Sheriff Joseph came in behind her with a large set of keys. He must've come in to relieve Flint. The man didn't even say goodbye before he left. Rude.
"Am I being let go?" I asked, keeping my voice as even as possible.
"We need to talk," the sheriff replied cryptically. "All of us."
My mom's head dropped, and I scowled. She had no reason to look so dejected.
"I'm nineteen. She doesn't need to be there." I jerked my head in my mom's direction.
She gasped, her mouth dropping open as her eyes tightened. Why did she look so hurt? I was trying to save her from the stress of whatever the sheriff had to say.
"Let's go, Seamus," she said tiredly, stepping back to give the sheriff room.
Once again, I was ignored as the three of us were marched into the sheriff's office. I'd been here a few times before too. In recent months, there was a new addition to the sheriff's desk: a framed picture of his new mate, Dusty, smiling at the camera.
But that wasn't the only new thing in the room. A man sat in the corner, one I did not recognize. He was tall with long legs that he stretched out in front of him like he didn't have a care in the world. His dark hair was thick on his head and neatly manicured on his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw. His hazel eyes watched me enter the room. It was like I could feel his gaze picking me apart.
I glared at him. It was best to establish right away that I wasn't to be messed with.
"Who is he?" I snarled, jerking my head at the man while my knee bounced along with my whole leg.
"That is Leopold Thibodeaux, and you should be very nice to him," the sheriff said with a hard edge. "He might be the only thing keeping you out of jail, Seamus."
I opened my mouth to say I wasn't afraid of jail when my mom hit my knee. I closed my mouth, glad for the moment that she at least hadn't brought Shiloh. He was the last person who looked at me like he was proud of me, and I hated doing anything to change that.
"What has he done this time, Sheriff? Deputy Flint wasn't entirely clear," my mother said.
"Well, Dr. Formes, we're still waiting on the final report from the fire department, but it seems as though your son was trying to burn down the university. It looks like we discovered the blaze early on, but unfortunately, he was just successful enough to cause structural damage to the building while completely destroying the sign that had been hand-carved out of the oldest redwood in Morningwood and gifted to the school. The sign alone is appraised at over ten thousand dollars due to the artist's popularity, as well as the rarity of the wood."
"Ten thousand?" my mom squeaked.
"I'll pay it off," I grunted, not liking the shade of pink my mom's face was turning. "You don't have to worry—"
"How?" she snapped.
She knew I had ways of making money. She wouldn't accept any of my drug money—her words—for rent or bills, but when she hadn't been able to afford that new game console for Shiloh, who had stepped up on his birthday, making sure he had at least one reason to smile? I wasn't going to admit to any of that in a room with the sheriff and a quiet man who hadn't spoken, but whose eyes I still felt on my skin. "I'll figure it out."
"I'm afraid you won't," Sheriff Joseph replied. "I've offered you this courtesy in the past, Dr. Formes, but this time, the crime is too severe. Even if the sign were replaced, the damage to the university building needs to be repaired before the building can be used again. Dean Grubbs is livid. He's calling for full restitution and is well within his rights by law to demand as much."
"Dean Grubbs is a whiny tub of—"
"Seamus!" my mom exclaimed.
Meanwhile, the man in the corner moved with a low groan, getting to his feet. "I believe this is where I come in."
What had the sheriff said his name was? Leopold? I snorted, but he ignored me.
He had a soft accent that sounded Southern but with a fancy twist. I didn't hate his voice. "The rabbits are prepared to help…" he began.
"You live up with those crazy inbreds?" I exclaimed. Everyone in Morningwood knew that the rabbit clans that lived above the town were hillbillies. Funny, this guy hadn't looked like a hillbilly at first. His clothes were worn, but without holes or stains, and his body didn't seem like the type that spent hours drinking beer in front of the television. The more I looked at him, the more my inner falcon squawked with alarm. If my inner beast was alarmed by this guy, then I should have been too. Except I got the idea that my falcon liked being in this man's presence. My lower body ached, and there was no mistaking that feeling. Attraction. Instantly, my stomach turned, and I broke out into sweats as I swallowed to try to keep the contents of my stomach where they belonged. "What the fuck is this joker doing here?" I growled while hoping my outburst would mask my body's initial reaction.
I expected the man to lash out, but he ignored me, acting as if I hadn't spoken. "We have the supplies, talent, and know-how. But I ain't about solving other people's problems. Especially if they don't seem all that grateful."
I knew that last bit had been directed at me. My eyebrows lowered, but I was too weirded out by my body's response to looking at him to raise my face. I hadn't asked for his help. I didn't want to go to jail, but I didn't want to remain near this man even more. "Why should I be grateful? I didn't ask for this."
"If you want to go to jail, son, then don't let me stop you," Leopold said.
I shot to my feet, facing him. "Don't call me son."
"Outta everything that's going on here, you're worried about that?" he replied, except out of his mouth, the t-sounds were all sharp, sounding more like every-ting.
"Seamus, sit down, please." My mom tugged on my arm.
"No." I ripped my arm free because standing had been a bad decision, and now that I was nearly flush with the other man's body, mine started to feel light, tingly. On the heels of that arousal came disgust. Need, lust, passion, these feelings always came hand in hand with pain and revulsion. Thanks to my ex, I couldn't think of sex without breaking into a cold sweat.
"Mr. Formes," the sheriff interrupted, "do you have the money to make the necessary repairs? Keep in mind that we will check where that money has come from." His words carried a steely edge.
The only money I had was rolled up in the lock box I kept under my bed. It wasn't all mine, and it sure as hell didn't add up to ten thousand dollars. "No."
Sheriff Joseph lifted the stack of papers in front of him, tapping them into a neat stack against the desk. "Then I'm afraid my hands are tied."
Kiki Burrelli lives in the Pacific Northwest with the bears and raccoons. She dreams of owning a pack of goats that she can cuddle and dress in form-fitting sweaters. Kiki loves writing and reading and is always chasing that next character that will make her insides shiver. Consider getting to know Kiki at her website, on Facebook, or send her an email: kikiburrelli@gmail.com.
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Pumpkin Cream Pie #7
