Finding The Wolf (The Holbrook Brother Shifters Book 2)

  Finding the Wolf (The Holbrook Brother Shifters

  Book 2

  Renee Carr

  Contents

  Finding the Wolf

  1. Eric

  2. Misty

  3. Eric

  4. Misty

  5. Eric

  6. Missy

  7. Eric

  8. Missy

  9. Eric

  10. Misty

  11. Eric

  12. Misty

  13. Eric

  14. Misty

  15. Eric

  16. Misty

  17. Eric

  18. Misty

  19. Eric

  20. Misty

  21. Eric

  22. Misty

  23. Eric

  24. Misty

  Epilogue – Eric

  Author’s Note

  A Little Bit of Wild Temptations

  1. Christian

  2. Libby

  3. Christian

  © Copyright 2019 by Renee Carr - All rights reserved.

  All rights are reserved. In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document by either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. No part of of this book maybe scanned , uploaded, or distributed via the internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Finding the Wolf

  1

  Eric

  The tall grasses waved back and forth as the breeze cascaded through the field. They moved melodically, and it was almost hard to not become enamored by their dance. But my focus had to stay sharp and on point. This was an important shot for me, a picture that may actually get me somewhere. Or it may not. It all depended on who actually saw it, and who was excited about it. This particular bird, the Upland Sandpiper, had only been observed 932 times since the beginning of the year. There were only 99 photos in existence of any recent sightings. Most of those were amateur photos, birdwatchers with their iPhone or a digital camera they didn’t know how to use. But as a professional photographer, I could only assume that if 99 people with little skill took a picture of this bird, I should be able to get one too.

  “Come on, Eric,” I whispered to myself. “Keep your focus. Keep your eyes on the bird. When it turns toward you, click the button. That’s all you have to do.”

  I was doing my best not to shift, very uncomfortable lying within the altitudinous, oscillating meadow. Pieces of it stuck through my jeans into my legs and small bugs hopped across me as if I were a normal piece of the structured environment. There was nothing worse than the feeling of a small bug on the back of your neck. My tripod was stuck half in the mud, holding my camera still. It had every gadget known to man, but I tried to take the truest picture I could. I wasn’t the photographer that edited their photographs. In fact, unless it came out how I wanted, I didn’t submit it. I wanted to be the best at my craft and not have to use digital technology to fix my mistakes.

  The Upland Sandpiper, little bastard, had been eluding me for weeks. I knew he was out there, I had seen him once before, but every time I got anywhere near him, he took off. I had been waiting for this one particular bird for hours and the cold, moist ground had penetrated through my skin into my bones. But there he was, perched on a broken and rotting tree limb, just above the tips of the tall grasses. His elongated body and neck were a light tan with specks of brown sprinkled through his feathers. His head turned back and forth, looking for any sign of food or danger.

  My hand twisted the camera lens, getting everything adjusted perfectly. If I had to come back out there, if my picture turned out like shit, there was a good chance I was going to give up on the Sandpiper altogether. Someone else could lie in the mud and dirt for that picture. It wasn’t like I was basking in the hot sun of the African plains, taking a picture of one of only 20,000 black lions left in the whole world. It was an Upland Sandpiper, a bird that liked to give us photographers a run for our money.

  My finger hovered just above the shutter release, waiting for its wiry, little feet to shift. I felt anxious, and couldn’t believe that I was so riled up over a bird. Had I only known when I went to school to be a photographer that this was what it was going to turn out like, I probably would’ve just switched majors to banking. It was about as exciting. The Sandpiper picked up its foot and began to turn and I readied myself to take the picture. However, as it did, its head shifted in the other direction and it let out a small squawk. I began pressing the shutter button as soon as I saw its wings come out. Something from behind it, something in the woods, sent it flying straight up into the air.

  In a panic, I picked my camera up, bringing the tripod with it, and took as many pictures as I possibly could as it flew off. I slammed it back down in the mud angrily. “Dammit!”

  Putting my hands on my hips, I looked over at the woods, but I didn’t see anything. I grabbed my bag off the ground and picked the camera up, unlatching it from the tripod. “I can’t believe I spent the whole fucking day out here for one stupid bird. And I can already tell I didn’t get one single good shot.”

  I always talked to myself when I was pissed. I really hoped that I wasn’t right. I really hoped that I got home and found that I took that one shot that no one else got. I would have to be patient, though, and spend time going through each and every one of the photos. My patience always tested me during that time. If I didn’t pay close attention, I could either miss the perfect shot, flipping through them so quickly, or miss a major mistake in one. It was the one thing about not doing digital editing that made things hard for me sometimes.

  It was my choice, though. Ever since I was a kid, I wanted to work with film, but finding the supplies and time for it was almost impossible. When professional quality digital cameras made their mark in the world, I thought it was the perfect middle ground. I could take pictures with a high-quality lens, high-quality camera, but test myself. Push myself to get the picture right with pure talent by not editing any of them.

  Looking at my watch, I shook my head and packed my book bag, sticking my tripod in the side belt and throwing it on my back. I narrowed my eyes at the woods, hoping whatever scared it saw my unhappiness, and then I headed back to the car. One thing about living in Galena was that I was never too far away from home. We were a small town, surrounded by nature on every side. Galena was tiny, and I didn’t even realize at first, when I was younger, how tiny it was until I did some traveling during college. I realized that what was a small town to most Americans was enormous to me. And the big city, it was almost terrifying. Galena was enough for me.

  Back at the car, I picked up my phone, seeing my editor-in-chief had called. I groaned and called him back. “What’s up, boss?”

  Dennis sniffled, and I could already picture him sitting there at his desk, not much older than me, but with the mannerisms of a 60 year old. He wore a variation of the same outfit every single day. Khaki or black pants, a blue or white button-up shirt, and a sweater vest. If he was feeling snappy, he’d wear a sweater with sleeves. “Did you get the picture?”

  I shook my head, having explained to Dennis about a million times that I didn’t edit, so it took me a while to go through everything. “I won’t know until I get home and take a look at the pictures. I have a good feeling, though.”

  Dennis didn’t say anything, though he rarely did. He just took me for my word and went on with his day. “I saw your brother, Christian, and h
is wife, Libby, the other day. It was the first time I got to meet Libby.”

  Almost instantly I wanted to tell him maybe he should try not to steal that girl away too, but I thought better of it. “Yeah, Libby’s a good girl. She’s pretty awesome. I’m glad they both live here now. Christian still has that farmhouse about 10 minutes away from me, the one he renovated a few years back.”

  “Oh yeah,” he replied. “I remember when that was happening. Was the talk of the town. Then he threw that Christmas party because everybody wanted to see the inside of it so badly. He did an excellent job. How’s your other brother?”

  I wasn’t really sure why he was making small talk; it was not normal for him. I knew I wasn’t in the office a lot, but since I was a photographer for the local paper, sitting at my desk was kind of the opposite of what I had to do. Nonetheless, Dennis and I had never been friends. “He’s doing good. He’s been back now for about a year and a half from college, still living with my dad, which has helped my dad out a lot since he doesn’t have to be at the house alone anymore, and he’s getting settled into my father’s business.”

  There was that awkward silence again for Dennis. I knew we were ending our conversation soon. “Well, I’ll give you a call with the next assignment and let me know how the photo goes. Tell your family I said hi.”

  “I will,” I said before hanging up the phone. “Or I won’t. Probably I won’t.”

  I chuckled, shaking my head and starting the car. I started thinking about my brothers as I drove toward my apartment. I loved that I lived so close to them. Even my father wasn’t that far away. They were always busy with the furniture business anyway, but we tried to get together as much as we could. Even still, no matter how happy I was to live close to them, I knew that I couldn’t take pictures of random birds for the rest of my life. At least, not if I wanted to make anything out of my photographic career.

  My journalism degree was in photographic journalism, and that’s where I belonged. I just really needed the perfect picture to showcase who exactly I was. Every day that I lay out in the mud looking for the Sandpiper, the reality of the fact that I was eventually going to have to start traveling again seeped into my mind. I got too comfortable, too fast, and wanted to fix it before I ended up like one of those old guys, socks up to my calves, shorts, a fishing vest even though I wasn’t going fishing, the binoculars, and the boat hat. Those were the guys that really looked for the birds.

  Getting home to my apartment, I tossed my keys in the dish by the door and headed straight for the shower. I peeled the cold, wet clothes off of me and dropped them in a pile in the middle of the bathroom. Standing there under the hot water, I relaxed a bit and began picking out the weeds that were stuck in my hair. Every time I flipped my hair back and forth, it seemed like there were more of them. It took me about 20 minutes before I was able to finish up washing. There was a small pile of twigs at my feet.

  Finishing up in the shower, I stepped out just as my phone began to ring. Looking down at the screen, I saw my older brother, Christian, calling me. “I seem to be the most popular guy in the world today. Everything alright?”

  Christian laughed. “I’m fine. I was actually calling to see how your day went.”

  I took in a deep breath, wiping the mirror off with my forearm. “If you call missing a really important picture by about a millisecond, being covered in bugs, realizing when I got home that I had walked through public looking the way that I did, and picking an entire tree worth of branches out of my hair a good day, then I’m the King of Good Days right now.”

  “Did you get the picture of the bird at least?” Christian asked, and I could tell he was holding back a laugh.

  I shook my head. “You’re an asshole.”

  Christian laughed. “Why? Because I’m worried about my little brother?”

  I groaned, putting my hands on the counter. “I was so close, man. So close. I haven’t even looked at them yet, but I know. I just don’t know how to get it done in Galena. I don’t want to leave, though—this is my home.”

  “I can understand that,” Christian replied. “But maybe just take a small vacation. Go somewhere where you know you’ll get some good pictures, make your mark, and then you’ll have the option.”

  I lifted my head and looked at myself in the foggy mirror. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll think about it. I do need something to submit to these larger publications. Don’t get me wrong, I like my job at the local paper, but it’s not going to pay the bills for long, not with everything going virtual. The world is online now, not in print. And the old people that still buy the paper are only going to do so for as long as they are alive.”

  Christian chuckled. “I don’t know, I’m pretty young and I like the paperwork over the Internet.”

  I stood up and shook my head. “That’s because you have the mentality of a 70-year-old.”

  “Speaking of old guys, I saw Dad the other day,” Christian mentioned. “He’s doing good. After the wedding, he just kind of opened up. Things just keep getting better for him. He still struggles with Mom’s death, I think he’ll always struggle with it, but at least we can see him smile now.”

  “Good,” I replied, taking my towel and rubbing it through my hair. “It still amazes me how much he loved that woman. Maybe one day…”

  Christian took in a long, deep breath. “Yeah, maybe one day for you. I still don’t understand how you work for the man that stole your girl.”

  I shrugged, walking out to my bedroom. “I put it out of my mind. I dated Lizzie for years and then suddenly it ended with the announcement of her engagement to the editor-in-chief of the same paper I worked for. I went through hell, and you know that. Trust me, I wanted to quit the paper, but it was the only local paper that we had, so I just deal with it.”

  “And not to beat a dead horse, but you know that it was for the best. Lizzie was a bitch, and she never really fit with you. You guys were two completely different people and not in a good way.”

  I glanced out the window of my apartment, looking over the town square of Galena. “I know. I just had to be removed enough from it to see that.”

  Christian yawned. “Well, I better get off here. I gotta go eat dinner with Libby and then I have a few errands to run. Don’t be a stranger. Call me and let me know how your photography goes.”

  I smiled, grabbing my laptop off the desk. “I will. Tell Libby I said hi.”

  When we got off the phone, I sat down on my bed and opened up my laptop. I had a couple of new emails, and I almost overlooked one of them, but I clicked on it out of curiosity. As I read, my hopes began to rise again. It was always exciting when there was a new contest.

  2

  Misty

  “Yes, I’m pretty sure there’s at least one coffee shop in town,” I chuckled as I pulled a picture from my box and set it up on my mantle. “I moved to Galena, Illinois, not some Third World country. You act like I gave up my freedom to follow the Mennonites on their journey to everlasting life.”

  Millie laughed. “Hey, compared to Chicago, it can’t be too different. I’m just making sure that you’re comfortable. I can definitely keep my couch clear in case you come running back here and need to move back to Chicago because you don’t want to drink the Kool-Aid.”

  Pulling a stack of books out of the box, I shook my head. “You’re too much. In all honesty, it’s going great so far. It’s quiet, and I know eventually the quiet will probably drive me crazy, but at least for right now I can get things done and not have to stress out too much about it.”

  Millie sighed. “Yeah, but what about your best friend? What am I going to do? This is supposed to be all about me!”

  With a giggle, I pushed the books on the shelf and stood back, looking at it. “I know, I know. But you’ll be fine. We’ve been best friends since how long? You did have a life before me and it’s not like I’m telling you we can’t be friends anymore. Moving back here is interesting. The place is exactly the same as when I moved h
ere when I was 14 years old. It’s kind of like walking back in time.”

  “Because it’s stuck in a time warp,” Millie groaned. “The cult of Galena is probably doing their chanting right now to keep the time warp bubble on top of you. I just couldn’t imagine moving from Chicago to a small town. I would go nuts.”

  With a smile, I looked in the box but it was empty. “It’s for the best. I was doing really well in Chicago, but I needed a quiet place to really work on my art. Both that and my music had been growing exponentially, but with the noise and the distractions, I started hitting walls everywhere I turned. I have some huge projects coming up and gallery showings and it’s not going to do me much good if I don’t have anything to show for it.”

  “What about any friends you had from back in the day when you were in high school?” Millie asked. “I mean, it seems like the kind of town where most people live and die there and then repeat the process with their kids. Surely those people are still around.”

  I rolled my eyes, plopping down on the couch. “If they are here, the few friends that I had, I don’t think I’ll be reviving those old friendships. When I moved here, I was awkward and quiet. I liked alternative rock, and I spent most of my time standing in my studio sculpting as I rocked out to it. I was far beyond strange to everyone in the small town. I only really had one friend and that was Lizzie. But even she, after a while, faded away. Lizzie spent so much time with her boyfriend, Eric Holbrook, that we barely ever saw each other anymore.”