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WHAT A WOLF’S HEART DECIDES
BOOK 4 IN THE LUX CATENA SERIES
AMY PENNZA
First edition published by

Scribble Pretty Books October 2020

1st digital Edition
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and
retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Copyright © 2020 by Amy Pennza

All rights reserved.

Created with Vellum
 THE LUX CATENA SERIES

What a Wolf Dreams: A Lux Catena Series Prequel

What a Wolf Desires
What a Wolf Dares
What a Wolf Demands
What a Wolf’s Heart Decides
“She warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within.” — Beauty and
the Beast
 CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue

About the Author

Also by Amy Pennza
 1

T his was going to be the best birthday ever.

Haley Michaels pulled the stack of invitations off the printer and thumbed through them,
checking for typos. She snorted under her breath. It would be just her luck to hand out fifty
invites printed with the wrong date.
Because she could not mess this up. Everything had to go perfectly. This was her chance to show
her fellow trainees she had something to offer—that she was worthy of attention despite not having a
Gift.
She pushed away from the desk and stood, then clutched the invitations to her chest. Around her,
the familiar furnishings of her bedroom seemed suddenly . . . overdone. Too girlish and feminine. She
gazed at her bed’s white headboard, at the wood carved with hearts and scrolling flourishes. Then
there was the cutesy vanity table, the chair in front of it slipcovered in a frilly pink fabric. The
window curtains were white with pink flowers. It was as if a Laura Ashley catalog had puked all
over the room.
In other words, not suitable for a twenty-one-year-old werewolf looking to score her first date.
She might as well drive straight to the animal shelter and adopt an armful of cats.
Not that cats would have anything to do with her. With the exception of the occasional mild-
mannered dog, most animals hated her kind. In that respect, they were much more astute than humans.
Of course, it hadn’t always been that way for her. As a former latent, she’d gone years without
worrying about her effect on animals. As a teen, she even volunteered at a horse farm, mucking out
stables and helping little kids feed the ponies.
She hugged the invitations tighter as memories washed over her. Back then, she worried about
what would happen to her if she never made the transition—the all-important first Turn to full wolf.
Latency was the only true disease among werewolves. Those who couldn’t Turn had all the instincts
and urges of the wolf, but they couldn’t transform from human to animal. Shunned by those who could
and shut out from all the rituals and customs of werewolf society, most latents went insane.
For Haley, working with the horses and the children who visited the farm had been a sort of
therapy—a way to distract herself from the problems that came with being a latent. The work had
taken her mind off the consuming wish to make her first Turn and leave all those problems behind.
Who could have predicted that finally getting her heart’s desire would come with a whole new set
of problems?
Murmured voices drifted through the door, pulling her out of her musings. A familiar deep chuckle
made her gasp and hurry across the room. Her heart pounded as she threw open the door and stepped
into the hallway.
Two males stopped just outside her door, their expressions startled. They’d shed their typical
training gear, swapping sweatshirts and athletic pants for jeans and button-downs. The scent of body
wash and aftershave swirled under her nose.
She injected enthusiasm into her voice. “Hey, guys! Headed out?”
The males exchanged a look. The taller one—a buff trainee named Eli—glanced toward the end
of the hall and the spiral staircase that led to the main floor below. “Uh . . . yeah. Just grabbing a
drink with the guys.”
“We’re full,” the other male said quickly. “The car, I mean. There’s no room for anyone else.”
Realization crept over her. They thought she was angling to go with them.
And they definitely didn’t like it.
What else was new?
A spark of mischief fired in her brain. Hiding a smile, she said, “That’s okay. I’ll just follow you
into town.”
Eli’s mouth fell open. “Uh . . . “ He shot his friend a worried look. “We d-don’t . . . That is—”
“Eli,” she said, taking pity on him. “I’m joking.”
He swallowed. “Oh.”
“I won’t crash your sacred man time.”
A frown wrinkled his forehead, as if he couldn’t quite decide if she was making fun of him. His
friend cast a longing glance toward the staircase.
She thrust a couple invitations at them. “Here. You’re both invited.”
Eli took a paper and scanned it.
“It’s for my birthday party.”
He looked up. “This is a week from now. And ten days before Christmas.”
“Yeah.” As if she didn’t know that already. She’d spend her entire childhood receiving birthday
presents wrapped in holiday paper. “But it’s a few days before our break, so I figured everyone will
still be in town.” Inspiration struck, and she added, “It can double as a Christmas party.”
There. They couldn’t say no to that.
Eli returned his gaze to the paper. Another frown pulled his brows together.
Her heart sped up. “You don’t have to bring a present. We can do a white elephant gift.” As soon
as the words left her mouth, she cringed.
Why, oh why, did she have to mention gift?
Eli drew himself up. Then he handed her the paper. “Sorry, Haley. I planned on heading home a
little early this year. My parents are expecting me.”
“Mine too,” his friend said quickly. He held out his invitation. “I won’t be at the Lodge.”
She stared at the paper in his outstretched hand, the bubbly font she’d used curling across the top
of the page.
Mocking her.
After a second, he leaned forward, pushing the paper practically under her nose.
She took it, tucking it under the others in her arms.
Eli cleared his throat. “Well, we should get going.”
“Okay,” she said. What else was there to say?
“See you later, Haley.”
“Sure. Later.” As they started down the hall, she heard herself say, “Have fun.”
Eli stopped and turned, his face a little sheepish. “Thanks.” He hesitated, then said, “If I don’t see
you again, happy birthday.”
“Thanks.” She didn’t need to add that he definitely wouldn’t see her again. They both knew he’d
make sure of it.
She stayed put as the males made their way to the staircase. Strike one. Maybe she should turn
around and go back to her girly bedroom. Or better yet, go to Remy’s office. He kept a shredder in
there. He liked to tease that he used it to destroy love letters from old girlfriends, but everyone knew
he shredded outdated tax documents. As the pack’s accountant, he was always handling sensitive
financial records.
Besides, he’d put his womanizing ways behind him when he mated Sophie. The past three years
had done nothing to diminish his devotion to her. If anything, their love was stronger than ever.
Haley’s heart squeezed. What she wouldn’t give for a relationship like that. Or like the one Max
and Lizette enjoyed. The pack’s Alpha and his mate were inseparable—mostly because Max couldn’t
stand to be parted from his wife. When she entered a room, his whole face lit up.
Even Dominic Prado, the pack’s stoic, curmudgeonly Beta, had found love.
But it hadn’t come easy. Haley backed into the doorway and leaned against the jamb, her mind on
the three couples who ran the New York Territory. Love hadn’t been a straight arrow for any of them.
Hell, Max had banished Lizette from the pack for five years, creating what had seemed like an
irreparable rift between them. It had taken a lot of groveling on his part—and Lizette saving his life—
to finally bring them together.
And Sophie had been promised to another before she escaped her arranged marriage and fled to
Remy. Her actions had nearly started a territorial war.
As for Dom and Lily . . . Their story was straight out of a movie. She’d been wrongfully accused
of murder, and he’d been sent to track her down—possibly kill her. Instead, they’d ended up falling in
love and having a daughter. Now they were expecting another child—something that rarely happened
among werewolves.
Each couple had found their happy ending, but not without a lot of heartache and struggle.
Haley looked at the invitations. She’d gotten two rejections, and now she was ready to give up
and pout in her room?
“You’re tougher than that, Michaels,” she muttered under her breath. With a nod, she tucked the
invitations under her arm and headed for the stairs. If she’d learned anything living in the Lodge over
the past three years it was that males tended to congregate around food. If she wanted to hand out
invitations, her best bet was the kitchen.
Besides, her room was somewhat isolated. Max, being the old-fashioned autocrat he was, insisted
she needed her “privacy” from the male trainees. She let out an unladylike snort as she descended the
stairs and hit the main floor. The Alpha seemed to forget they were all shapeshifters. Transforming
from two legs to four meant getting naked on a regular basis. At one time or another, she’d seen every
wolf in the territory in a state of undress.
The Lodge’s main floor was more like the lobby of a fancy hotel, and her footsteps echoed as she
made her way down the wide corridor that led to the foyer. There were bound to be a few wolves in
one of the lounge areas that flanked the main staircase.
Sure enough, the unmistakable sounds of a televised sporting event reached her as she neared the
foyer. There was a muffled crunch—probably football helmets—followed by blaring whistles and the
roar of a crowd.
Haley shook her head. Werewolf or human, males seemed oddly fixated on watching other males
repeatedly smash into each other.
 At the end of the corridor, the foyer opened onto a massive great room. Tucked alongside one
wall was a stone fireplace with a thick wooden mantel. Several males lounged in leather chairs
arranged around a flat screen television. A trio were squished onto a matching sofa. The coffee table
in front of them groaned with plates of nachos, bowls of popcorn, and about two dozen soda cans.
Sure enough, football players jogged across the screen.
She bustled over. “Who’s winning?”
The males looked at her, their expressions a mix of surprise and . . . yep, that was irritation.
Anxiety bolted through her as she stopped at the edge of the seating area, the invitations in her
arms. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your game.”
The male nearest her glanced at his companions before saying, “It’s fine.”
An awkward silence descended over the group. One of the males on the sofa leaned forward and
muted the TV.
She gnawed the inside of her cheek. Should she just pass out the invitations? Dump them on the
coffee table and go?
The first male who’d spoken cleared his throat. “Did you need something?”
“No.”
His eyes dropped to the papers in her arms.
“I mean yes.” Maybe for the floor to open up and swallow me whole? Ah hell, could this be any
more embarrassing? Heat crept into her cheeks, and her heart sped up.
One of the wolves on the sofa tilted his head.
Because he can hear it. They all could. Enhanced hearing was one of the first things she’d had to
get used to when she finally Turned. As far as superpowers went, it was far less cool than she’d
imagined. For a while, it had been like someone turned up the world’s volume full blast on a pair of
earbuds and glued them inside her ears. It was hard to sleep when you could hear mice running three
floors overhead.
Or people talking about you when they thought no one was listening.
She’d since learned to block out the noises she didn’t need to hear.
The male nearest her shifted in his chair. “No offense, but we’d kind of like to get back to the
game.” He gave the invitations a pointed look. “So . . .”
“Right.” The heat in her cheeks flared. Fumbling, she gathered a section of papers from the top of
the stack and handed them to him. “I think that’s enough for everyone. It’s for a party.”
The male who muted the TV spoke up. “Party?”
“Yeah.” She offered him a smile. “I’m turning twenty-one.”
“You’re throwing yourself a birthday party?” He gave the wolf next to him side-eye, and a faint
smirk touched his lips.
It was like someone threw a bucket of ice over her head. Her smile seemed to freeze in place.
Another male chuckled. “That’s kinda lame, Michaels.”
Not as lame as your barbed wire bicep tattoo. She pushed the retort back before it could jump
from her mouth. Instead, she forced a light laugh. “It says no gifts at the bottom. It’s just a casual get
together before break.” She braced herself for a smart-ass reply.
But he shoved the shoulder of the male next to him and pointed at the TV. “Ooh, did you see that?”
Every male in the lounge area focused on the set.
“He got lit up.”
“My man’s helmet flew off.”
“Hold up, hold up. They’re showing a replay.” The male who called her lame grabbed the remote
and turned up the volume. He nudged his buddy again. “Watch number eighty-two. He comes in like a
freaking freight train.”
On the screen, one player sprinted across the field in slow motion, launched himself in the air, and
tackled another player to the ground. The impact sent them both flying. Sure enough, the first player’s
helmet flew off. His unprotected head bounced off the turf, sending sweat flying.
The wolves exploded in a chorus of grunts, cheers, and laughter.
She looked between the screen and the males sprawled on the furniture. The one nearest her
tossed the invitations on the table, then leaned over and high-fived another wolf as the hit replayed in
slow motion. The males continued laughing and commiserating over the brutal hit.
A curious numbness drifted over her. As if on autopilot, she turned and walked away, crossing the
foyer without a destination in mind. Behind her, the TV crowd’s roar mingled with the sound of the
males’ laughter.
It wasn’t for her, but it didn’t matter. Her cheeks burned, and her chest grew tight. What a dumb
idea, planning a party for herself. How desperate could she get?
She increased her pace, approaching a run as the murmur of voices faded and the only sounds in
her ears were her heart beats and gasping breaths. She couldn’t go back the way she came. That
would take her past the lounge area again. Fortunately, there was another staircase ahead—an old
servants’ stair—that led back upstairs.
Back to the safety of her stupid, girly bedroom with its stupid decorations and stupid furniture.
She was so focused on getting to the stairs she almost collided with the tiny red blur that shot
around a corner.
“Whoa!” Haley put up her hands.
The blur stopped, revealing a redheaded toddler wearing black high-top sneakers, a pink tutu, and
a T-shirt that said “boss lady.”
Haley’s heart turned over. She sank into a crouch, putting her head on the child’s level. “Hey,
Posey. Where’s your mommy and daddy?” It was a question just about everyone in the Lodge had
asked at one point or another. Lily and Dom were excellent parents, but Posey was a handful and a
half. She kept all the wolves in the Lodge on their toes.
Not that anyone minded. Children were such a rarity for their species, the child could have gotten
away with murder.
She knew it, too.
The little girl’s face lit up. “Mama.”
“That’s right,” Haley said. Unable to help herself, she reached out and stroked a bright red curl
nestled against a chubby cheek. “Where’s mama?”
Before she even finished her sentence, a frazzled-looking Remy rushed around the corner. He
stopped and clutched at his chest. “Oh good. You’ve got her.”
Posey whirled. “Unka Emmy!” She raced to the big male and threw her arms around his legs.
He swayed but kept his balance, putting a large palm over the springy red curls. “Listen,
pipsqueak. I thought we said no more running off?”
Still clutching his legs, the little girl leaned back and yelled, “Wace!”
“Nooo.” Remy shook his head. “No racing. Uncle Remy isn’t fast enough to keep up with you.”
Haley let out a huff of laughter.
Remy looked up, then gave her a self-deprecating grin. “I thought I was in good shape. Then I
tried hanging out with a three year old.”
Haley straightened. “In your defense, Posey isn’t your typical three year old.”
 “You’ve got that right.” He met the little girl’s gaze. “Nothing typical about you, is there, Posey
Wosey?”
The red curls bounced as Posey shook her head enthusiastically. “Nope!”
Haley laughed again. “Where are Lily and Dom?”
“Baby doctor. They drove into Champlain this morning.” His gaze grew distant, and for a second
he seemed tense—like he was concentrating hard on something. Then his expression cleared and he
gave his head a little shake. “Dom says they’re in the waiting room now.” The distant look turned to
bemusement. “Huh. My range must be improving. Normally, I can’t communicate with Dom this far
away.”
“That has to cut down on your cell phone bill.”
“It’s convenient.”
“Max is okay with Lily seeing a human doctor?” As a rule, werewolves weren’t supposed to seek
medical treatment in the outside world. As Haley understood it, subtle differences in their blood
raised red flags on human medical tests. Besides, the species had Healers who could mend wounds
and tend to the injured.
Remy lifted Posey into his arms and balanced her on his hip, making pink tulle poof around his
body. “It’s just an ultrasound. Our pack Healer has an old machine. Dom insisted on getting a state-of-
the-art test.”
A light bulb went off in Haley’s head. “He’s nervous about another pregnancy.” Who could blame
him? Werewolves had a hard enough time producing one child. It was almost unheard of for a mated
pair to have two. When they did, there was usually a big age gap between their offspring. Yet Lily
was pregnant again just three years after Posey.
Remy’s ready smile slipped a little, and he put a protective palm on the back of Posey’s head. He
shot Haley a meaningful look over the red curls. “Yeah, but we’re keeping that decidedly on the down
low. Especially in front of speed racer here.”
The little girl nestled into his shoulder and stuck her thumb in her mouth. One black high-top
swung gently in the air.
Haley blanched. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“No worries, chère,” he said quickly, his Québécois accent peeking through his usual smooth
English. “I get why Dom’s”—he glanced at Posey’s head—“apprehensive, but I don’t think there’s
anything to worry about. Another baby is a good thing.”
Posey lifted her head. “Baby!”
Remy beamed at her. “That’s right. You’re going to have a baby brother. What do you think about
that?”
She grinned, still kicking her leg back and forth. Then she pointed a chubby finger down the hall
and said, “Snack!”
Remy looked at Haley with raised eyebrows. “Well, it seems the boss lady has spoken.”
Haley smiled. “She’s certainly dressed for it.”
“Snack!” Posey yelled, jabbing her finger down the hall. “SNACK!”
Remy gave her an affronted look. “Watch it, girl. If you’re mean I’m not cutting your sandwich
into dinosaur shapes.” He threw his head back and let out a deep roar.
The little girl giggled, then reached up and patted his cheek. “T-Wex.”
“You got it.” He smiled and rubbed his nose against hers.
Oh my. Haley had to restrain herself from clasping her hands under her chin and sighing. If the
female half of the werewolf community could see this, the species’ population problem might get
solved overnight. “Aching ovaries” was an understatement. What was it about a big, powerful male
being sweet with a baby that made the evils of the world fall away and everything seem perfect and
good?
It didn’t hurt that Remy was a heartthrob and former ladies’ man. Emphasis on former. Whatever
his past romantic exploits, they were firmly behind him. As a mated male, he only had eyes for Sophie
. . . and the occasional mischievous redheaded toddler.
He met Haley’s gaze. “Whatcha got there?”
“Huh?” She shook her head to clear the estrogen fog. “I mean, what?”
“The papers.” He used his chin to gesture toward the hand she held at her side.
She looked at the invitations. “Oh. Nothing.” She stuck the papers behind her back.
Remy raised a blond eyebrow. “Haley. Have you ever heard the phrase ‘you can’t bullshit a
bullshitter’?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t mean to brag, but I’m probably the most accomplished bullshitter in the territory.
Possibly the species.”
She sighed. “Fine. But it’s dumb.”
“Also an expert on that subject.”
That made a smile tug at her mouth, which helped tamp down the tightness that threatened to return
to her chest. “I wanted to have a party for my twenty-first birthday. Not for presents or anything. Just
to . . .” She groped for the right words. “So the guys might get to know me better.” Heat scorched her
cheeks.
Understanding lit Remy’s green gaze. “You want them to give you a chance.”
She let her shoulders slump. “Yeah.” Wow, she was lame. Hearing it out loud made everything
worse. Now Remy would make a sympathetic sound and tell her to stop trying so hard. That there was
no reason to rush into a relationship or a mating. She had her whole life ahead of her. Dating should
be the last thing on her mind. As her well-meaning foster mother told her, there was “no need to be
boy crazy” and actively searching for love just made her “look desperate.”
But Remy didn’t say any of those things. His gaze remained steady, and his voice was soft when
he said, “It’s okay to want, you know.”
“Want?” What did he mean?
His smile was gentle. “Want. Desire. Yearn.” He tipped his head toward Posey. “Whether it’s the
whole marriage and baby thing or just a date, it’s okay to want.”
It was her turn to smile, except she knew hers was rueful. “Yeah, well, most people tell me I’m
too young to know what I want.”
“Ah, that’s the funny thing. Sometimes we don’t know what we want until we find it.”
With anyone else, she would have rolled her eyes. But in this case, his words made sense. If
anyone was an expert on love, it was Remy Arsenault. And not just because he’d spent years as the
species’ resident playboy. If anything, his reputation had nearly stopped him from finding happiness.
Most people focused so much on his exterior they forgot to look deep enough to see the kind, caring
male underneath.
But Sophie had. As Remy was fond of saying, she’d saved him just as much as he saved her.
He nodded toward the invitations again. “If you leave them with me, I’ll make sure everyone gets
one.”
“You will?”
“Yup. I’ll see most of the guys later today for a training run.” A wicked light entered his eyes.
“I’m making them scale the gorge.”
She winced. Steps from the Lodge’s back door, the gorge dropped a hundred feet to a trickle of a
creek. A rope bridge made crossing fast and easy—except for the times the pack’s trainers forced
recruits to climb down one side and up the other. The last time she did it, her muscles ached for a
week.
She handed Remy the invitations. “Just do me a favor and pass them out before you torture
everyone.”
“Good idea.”
A thought popped into her head. “And Remy?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t . . .” She cleared her throat. “Promise you won’t force anyone to come, okay?” Because he
could. Dom might be Beta and second-in-command, but Remy was the default leader of the Hunters—
the wolves who served and guarded the Alpha and his family. When he wasn’t looking after the
pack’s finances, he trained the next generation of wolves who hoped to serve as Hunters someday. If
he told the young males at the Lodge to attend her party, they would.
And that would just make everything worse.
Shuffling Posey in his arms a little, he rolled the invitations into a tube shape and stuffed them in
his back pocket. “I won’t. I promise.”
She let her shoulders relax.
“We’re off to the kitchen,” he said. “Wanna join us for snack time? I make a fine dinosaur-shaped
sandwich.”
Haley laughed. “Thanks, but no. I was just going up to my—”
“What’s going on out here?”
She and Remy turned at the sound of the deep, French-accented voice. The Alpha stood in an open
doorway half a dozen steps down the hall.
Max’s expression softened when he saw Posey. In a flash, the forbidding Alpha disappeared. He
strode to Remy and grasped Posey’s tiny black sneaker.
“And how are you, mon chou?” he asked the little girl.
Haley hid a smile. It would never not be weird to hear people call their loved ones a “cabbage.”
As Dom would say, though, who could explain the French? It had taken her a while to get used to the
slang.
And goodness knew she was hopeless any time Max went off on one of his lectures. He tended to
switch to French when he was angry. He also tended to speak more quickly. When he combined the
two, the best she could do was stand still and nod.
Considering how often she ended up on the receiving end of a scolding, it was a decent strategy.
He looked at her now. “It’s a good thing you’re here. I need to see you.”
Panic jumped into her throat. “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”
Remy chuckled.
“It’s nothing bad,” Max said. He gave her a thoughtful look. “If anything, it’s more of a . . .
project. One I think you might enjoy.”
Now why did that make her panic kick up another notch?
She swallowed. “I should probably point out I always hated group projects in school. Actually, I
hated school in general.”
“Yes, I know,” Max said. “I still have your report cards.”
Yeah, and he’d given her hell each time her grades slipped below a C average. What good was
being a badass supernatural creature if you had to worry about your GPA?
But Max didn’t see things that way. Whereas some Alphas believed in isolating their packs from
the human world, he was all about integration. Most of the New York wolves had college degrees and
regular jobs.
She glanced at Remy. She’d get no help there. He put up a good front, but underneath the charm
and jokes was a sharp mind—and one he’d used to earn his master’s in accounting from Syracuse. As
the pack’s CPA, he made sure the territory had enough wealth to last several centuries.
Max stepped back and swept an arm toward his office. “At least hear me out. As I said, I think
you’ll enjoy this particular project.”
It was nice of him to couch it as a request, but they both knew it wasn’t. When the Alpha asked
you to step into his office, it wasn’t really an ask situation.
It was an order.
She tickled Posey’s cheek, prompting a giggle from the little girl, then gave Remy a wave before
turning and heading to Max’s office.
He murmured something to Remy behind her back, then followed, his long strides letting him
easily catch up to her.
At the door, he motioned her in before closing the big double doors behind them.
“Let’s sit,” he said, already walking to his desk. In a blink, he was behind it.
A faint breeze tugged at her hair—the aftermath of him using his Gift to cross the room faster than
even a supernatural eye could track.
He steadied himself with a hand on his desk. “Moved too fast that time,” he murmured. Then he
lifted his gaze, his pale eyes meeting hers.
Apprehension zipped down her spine. For all his assurance she wasn’t in trouble, it was hard to
feel at ease with the Alpha. It didn’t help that his “office” was more like a library—or maybe a throne
room in a czar’s palace. According to Lizette, the inlaid floors and ornate woodwork weren’t really
Max’s style. But it didn’t matter what Max liked. The room wasn’t built for comfort.
It was built to impress. Specifically, it served as a reflection of Max’s power in the North. When
other alphas and their wolves visited the New York Territory, they needed to feel the weight of Max’s
influence. To wolves, appearances were everything.
Haley bit back a sigh. For a species of supernatural creatures with kick-ass powers, werewolves
could be such mean girls.
“Haley?”
She looked up. Max stood behind his desk, an expectant look on his face. Yeah, keeping the Alpha
waiting was a bad idea. “Sorry,” she said, bustling forward. As she went, she couldn’t help looking
toward the floor-to-ceiling windows along the room’s back wall. The forest stretched beyond it, the
view outside even more impressive than the room itself.
When she reached the desk, Max waved her into one of the two visitor chairs. “Have a seat.”
Her stomach tightened. How many times had she heard those words before? Usually after she’d
skipped class or failed to do her assigned chores around the Lodge.
Oh, and there was that one time she slugged Calvin Ketterby in the face for calling her “Haley the
Giftless.”
Actually, that might have happened more than once.
She perched on the edge of the chair and put her hands in her lap. There. She was reserved.
Respectful. Whatever Max had to say, she was fully prepared to hear it.
He sat and rested his hands lightly on the arms of his chair. For a moment, he regarded her in
silence, his pale stare steady.
It was hard not to squirm under that stare. Instinct wouldn’t let her gaze directly into his eyes, as
that would be a challenge to his authority.
Her wolf most certainly didn’t want to go there.
But he’d said she wasn’t in trouble—that he wanted to talk to her about a “project.”
Seriously, how bad could it be? It was probably something silly.
She offered him a tentative smile.
“So,” he said, “how do you feel about finding a husband?”
 2

H aley’s smile froze. For a second, she wasn’t sure she heard Max correctly.
Because he’d just asked her how she felt about a husband.
Right?
A laugh built in her chest. He couldn’t have said that. Her hearing wasn’t as good as she thought.
Maybe some of her latency still lingered. That would explain a lot of—
“Haley?” A hint of alarm entered Max’s expression. “Are you all right?”
She realized she was still smiling at him like an idiot. “Uh . . .” She cleared her throat and tried to
arrange her features into something normal looking. “Sorry. It’s just that I thought you asked how I feel
about finding a husband.”
“I did.”
“You did?”
“Yes. I did.” He leaned forward and snagged a piece of paper she hadn’t noticed before. “I
received a letter from the mother of one of our past trainees.”
“His mother?”
Max kept his gaze on the paper. “He’s one of the latents Lizette Turned.” He glanced up. “So you
have that in common.”
“In common?”
“The mother says here he’s been unable to find a mate despite making the Turn and developing a
strong Gift. She says it’s been four years since he Turned.” He grunted and dropped his voice to a
mutter. “It doesn’t help that they live in the Washington Territory.”
“Washington?”
Max looked up, a frown wrinkling his normally smooth forehead. Still holding the paper, he
leaned back in his chair. “You’re repeating everything I say.”
“I am?” Shit, he was right. She shook herself. “I don’t understand. What does this have to do with
me?”
“I should think that would be obvious.” He waved the paper. “A mother wants her son mated.
He’s struggling to find possible matches. You’re single and, if I’m not mistaken, looking.” At that, he
raised an eyebrow. “Am I mistaken?”
Her cheeks heated, and she had to look down. His gaze was too discerning. Good grief, did
everyone in the Lodge know about her pitiful love life? She heard herself mumble, “I’m not
desperate.”
“I didn’t say that, and I don’t think that.”
 She dared a glance at him. “Other people do.” The rejections she’d experienced over the past
hour roared back, and tears burned her throat. “It’s like I have the plague.”
There was a scraping sound, then Max’s jeans-covered legs appeared at the bottom of her vision.
He leaned on the edge of the desk in front of her, and when he spoke his voice was as gentle as she’d
ever heard it.
“You don’t have the plague, ma belle. Far from it. My territory is richer for having you in it.”
That brought her head up. “You mean it?” He’d always seemed so exasperated by her. Although,
he seemed exasperated by a lot of the younger wolves.
His smile touched his eyes, which grew warmer despite their light color. “Of course I do. You . .
.” He gestured, clearly searching for a word—something he usually did before using an English
idiom. He snapped his fingers. “You keep me on my toes.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”
“It is. Especially for an Alpha.” He raised his eyebrows. “People in power need to be checked on
occasion. Remy used to relish that role. Then he met Sophie and settled down. Someone had to take
over the job of chief troublemaker.”
The affection in his voice was obvious, so she returned his smile. “Just so you know, he hasn’t
entirely abandoned his trouble-making ways.”
“Believe me, I’m aware. He’s changed the background image on my laptop three times this
week.”
“What did he change it to?”
“Minions memes. Every time.” He grimaced. “He also makes obnoxious videos autoplay when I
log on. I had to carry the damn computer upstairs so Lizette could turn it off.”
Haley laughed. She couldn’t help it. The thought of the formidable Max hauling ass upstairs so his
wife could fix his computer was too funny.
He chuckled with her. Then his expression grew serious, and his tone became reluctant. “I know
you’ve struggled here. Struggled to make friends.”
“That’s not true.” She had plenty of friends.
“Besides Lizette, Remy, and the others.”
She shifted in her seat. “You mean the other trainees.”
He nodded. “They still won’t accept you, despite you making the Turn.”
Her humor drained away. It should be enough—making the Turn after an adolescence thinking she
was doomed to latency. Such a thing shouldn’t have even been possible. For almost all of werewolf
history, it hadn’t been. Then Lizette had come along. For years, everyone assumed she was a Healer.
It was a useful Gift, and Healers were revered in every territory.
But Lizette had a second Gift—one that was so incredibly rare most wolves had never heard of it.
She was a Bloodsinger, which meant she was capable of pulling a latent wolf’s beast forward enough
to force the Turn. In fact, Haley had been her first “test case.” Although Lizette was a few years older,
they’d become friends when Lizette moved to New York from California as a teen. Both orphaned at a
young age, they formed an instant bond that had remained strong even after Lizette left the Lodge to
attend college. It was during a long weekend visit at Lizette’s apartment that Haley had Turned.
At the time, everyone thought it was just a lucky coincidence. But Max had known the truth. The
New York Territory was already famous for its high rate of Turned latents. After Haley, he realized it
wasn’t just coincidence.
It was Lizette.
Haley looked at Max now. “I should be grateful. Not every latent gets a chance to make the Turn.”
 His voice was soft. “No. But werewolves expect more.” He let out a sigh heavy with frustration.
“Our birth rates continue to plummet, yet wolves still insist on matching their children to mates with
superior Gifts.” The last was said with a snarl.
She gave a sigh of her own. “Yeah, well, I’d settle for an inferior Gift. As far as I know, I’m the
only wolf in existence who doesn’t have one.”
And that automatically crossed her off any enterprising werewolf mama’s matchmaking list.
Wolves valued the Gifts that made them dominant fighters—things like enhanced speed, hearing, or
vision. Healers were okay in a pinch, but non-physical Gifts like Telepathy were undesirable.
And not having a Gift at all? Forget about it.
Max turned his head a little and nodded toward the letter on his desk. “Not everyone cares about
that.”
Haley followed the direction of his gaze. “I don’t get it. She wants me to marry her son? Arranged
marriages are sort of nineteenth century, don’t you think?”
He smiled. “Not in werewolf culture, they’re not. But she’s not asking for a wedding. She just
wants you to visit.”
“And meet her son.”
“That’s right. Maybe go on a date or two. You’ll stay a month and then return home. Think of it
like a vacation.”
Well, that didn’t sound so bad. Haley nibbled her bottom lip. “You said he’s a former trainee.
Would I know him?”
Max shook his head. “I doubt it. He Turned four years ago, which was before you started training.
Benjamin Rupert. Does that ring a bell?”
She searched her memory and came up short. “No. Do you remember him?”
“Vaguely. As you know, we accept trainees from all over.”
That was an understatement. The New York Territory was a revolving door for latents who hoped
to Turn. Max believed everyone deserved a chance, so he was generous when it came to fostering
young people from other territories. The Lodge was supposed to be a family residence, but the
constant influx of trainees made it more like a cross between a frat house and a military academy.
In other words, it should have been the perfect place to find a date.
Should have been. As Max said, werewolf parents didn’t seem overly concerned about the
species’ declining population. They just wanted their precious angels to marry someone with good
genes.
Defeat coursed through Haley. She’d endured years of scorn at the Lodge, which was probably the
most inclusive territory in the country. Why would she travel all the way to Washington for more of
the same?
She licked her lips. “Why me? I mean, there are other latent females who’ve made the Turn.” Was
there something wrong with this guy that his mommy had to write letters angling for dates?
“It’s a good question,” Max said, rising and circling his desk. He pointed at the huge map that
hung on the wall behind it. Hand-drawn on parchment, it predated the U.S. Constitution by fifty years.
Humans would recognize the general outline of North America, and some of the state boundaries
were roughly the same. But the similarities ended there. For one thing, there were sixty territories
instead of fifty states. The biggest difference, though, was the lack of a border between the United
States and Canada. In the werewolf world, that line didn’t exist. It was the reason Max’s territory
spanned both New York and Quebec.
He walked from one edge of the map to the other, drawing an imaginary line from the North
Atlantic to the Pacific Northwest. “This is the Washington Territory.” He made a circling motion
around the squarish shape of the human state. Then he drew another line upward, landing on a spot
near the coast. “This is Vancouver.” He looked at her over his shoulder. “British Columbia. That’s in
Canada.”
“Yes, I know.” Good grief, she wasn’t that bad at school stuff.
He faced her. “How much do you know about the Washington Territory?”
Uh . . . The question tumbled around her mind. Living her whole life on the East coast, she hadn’t
given it much thought. “It rains a lot?”
Max didn’t smile. Instead, he looked at the map, his face thoughtful in profile. “It’s the most
sparsely populated territory in the New World. Only Europe has fewer wolves.”
That didn’t mean much. Like every other wolf forced to sit through lectures about werewolf lore,
she knew the story of how the European wolves had battled and bickered themselves to the brink of
extinction. It was the reason the survivors who crossed the Atlantic centuries ago had vowed not to
repeat the same mistakes. Each Alpha picked a Beta—an advisor and confidante who was supposed
to check their worst impulses and help them rule. They also surrounded themselves with Hunters who
patrolled the territory so the Alpha was free to look after his people rather than defend his borders.
It worked. Most of the time.
Max went on. “Birth rates are down in every territory, but no part of the country has numbers as
dismal as Washington. There hasn’t been a birth or a mating in over ten years.”
She looked at the map. “No matings?”
“None,” he said, his tone grim. He turned and settled behind his desk once more, then propped an
elbow on one of the arms and rested his chin in his hand, his gaze almost . . . troubled.
But it was more than that. For the first time Haley could remember, he looked older. Careworn.
Tired.
On impulse, she leaned forward and said, “It really bothers you, doesn’t it? The population
problem.”
If he was surprised by her candor, he didn’t show it. “Yes,” he said simply. He hesitated, then
added, “But what bothers me more is I seem to be the only Alpha trying to do something about it.”
“Like talking to the witches.”
“Witchborn,” he corrected. “They’re careful to make that distinction, considering most witches
call them an abomination and want them dead.”
Ouch. “That’s not very family friendly of them.” She still had a hard time wrapping her head
around the idea of “witchborn wolves.” In her defense, no one had known of their existence until
three years ago. Apparently, the witch covens were even more maniacal than werewolves about
keeping their bloodlines pure. Only the leaders of the great magical houses could approve a match,
and they rarely allowed witches to marry for love.
But that hadn’t stopped their members from finding romance. In some cases, they’d found it with
werewolves, resulting in hybrid offspring with interesting powers. For reasons Haley wasn’t privy
to, the witchborn had appointed their de facto leader—a mysterious wolf named Damian Blackwood
—to approach Max and orchestrate a “coming out” process for the witchborn.
She’d met Damian a handful of times over the past three years. He’d seemed nice enough—until
she saw him pin a subordinate to the wall with nothing more than the flick of a finger.
Max offered her a tight smile. “Family ties don’t matter to the magical houses. Witches are
ruthless. They only care about blood when it can bring them power. Most only have children to
solidify alliances.”
 Haley’s stomach lurched. “How can they use their own children in such a despicable way?”
“No idea. But my guess is they might see things differently if confronted by the same fertility
issues we face. Fortunately, the witchborn seem immune to our struggles in that area.”
“Which is why you’re talking with them.” It was just a guess, but it made sense. He’d been
conducting not-so-secret meetings with Damian for close to two years. Rumor had it the witchborn
were capable of producing multiple children. Max claimed the witches were ruthless, but so was he
—possibly even more so.
He was up to something. She could sense it.
In response, he gave her another enigmatic smile. “We all have to do our part.”
Huh. That was a non-answer if ever she’d heard one. Her gaze fell on the letter he’d left on the
desk. “Including me?” An uncomfortable thought jumped into her brain. Was this his way of getting an
undesirable wolf off his hands? By unloading her onto a territory desperate for new members?
“If it’s what you want,” he said. “There’s no harm in meeting new people. And if you and this
wolf hit it off, I think we’d all welcome the possibility of a mating and, eventually, a child.”
The uncomfortable feeling grew. She dared to meet his gaze—and hold it. “I don’t like the idea of
being a brood mare.”
He gave her a mild look. “No one is suggesting you become one. You know as well as I do how
important it is to be certain about a potential mate. Forever is a long time, Haley.”
How many times had she heard that? It was a favorite saying among werewolf parents—and
foster parents. Unlike their human counterparts, they encouraged their children to “play the field”
before settling down. And it wasn’t a euphemism. On the contrary, they wanted their kids to hop in
and out of beds. To an outsider, it might seem like irresponsible advice.
To a wolf, however, it made total sense. Because marriage among werewolves was a
metaphysical affair. When wolves spoke of matings being “forever” they meant it. The species wasn’t
immortal—although that would have been cool—but they lived longer than humans, with most wolves
making it to around a hundred and thirty. As a bonus, they spent the majority of those years healthy and
youthful-looking. The theory went that the sacred mating bond was behind this genetic advantage.
Known as the lux catena, it literally meant “chain of light.” And while it wasn’t a literal chain, it
nevertheless bound one mate’s life to the other. If one died, the other followed.
She understood that better than most.
There was no divorce among werewolves. Once you were bound, you were bound for life.
Literally. So it made sense that nature froze wolves at their most attractive, thereby reducing any
temptation to stray. The mating bond did its part, too. Every mated wolf Haley had ever talked to said
the lux catena created an unbreakable connection. Love could be part of the equation, but it didn’t
have to be. The magic in the chain didn’t care about that. It just made sure they could never betray
each other.
It was hard to imagine such a powerful connection.
On some level, it was also frightening.
She looked at the letter again. “So there’s no pressure with this? If I don’t like him I—”
“You come back home.” Max leaned forward a little in his chair. “You always have a home here,
ma belle.”
Did he know how much she needed to hear that? Stupid tears rushed into her eyes, and she
lowered her gaze so he wouldn’t see them. She had more to be thankful for than most orphans. Her
foster parents loved her and had raised her as their own.
Still, she’d never felt like she truly belonged anywhere.
 But maybe she just hadn’t found the right place.
She lifted her head and looked at the jagged coastline Max had pointed to on the map. “Why no
matings? In Washington, I mean.” Sure, wolves couldn’t do much about their fertility problems, but
people still wanted to get married, didn’t they? For most, the urge to find a mate was overwhelming.
Yet another “present” from Mother Nature.
Max made a soft sound that drew her attention. “The truth is, no one knows.” He shrugged—a
Gallic gesture that was pure Québécois. “As a territory, it’s extremely isolated. The wolves there live
in a mountain community. It’s beautiful, but I can see how a young person would want to leave.”
She gestured toward the windows and the forest outside. “Most wolves prefer isolation. It’s not
like we’re city dwellers around here.”
He smiled. “You’ve obviously never been to the Cascades. There’s isolation, and then there’s
isolation. From what I’ve heard, most of the younger Washington wolves choose to move to other
territories. Those that will have them, that is.”
Easier said than done, she knew. Werewolves were jealous of their borders—and even more so
about their bloodlines. If this Benjamin Rupert was a former latent, he was unlikely to find a territory
willing to welcome him. He might be Turned now, but the so-called pure-blooded wolves would
always treat him like a second class citizen.
Sympathy sparked in her chest. If she ever had a son, and that son was a latent, would she do
everything in her power to make him happy? Even write a letter asking an Alpha to send him a
prospective mate?
Yes. Yes, she would.
She let her gaze wander over the ragged Pacific coastline. “If I did this, where would I stay?”
“There’s a small bed and breakfast in town.”
“You’d expect me to stay with humans?”
He made a negative sound. “Elder Lake doesn’t have any humans. All the residents are wolves.
Well, wolves and horses.”
She jerked her eyes to his. “Horses?”
A small smile played around his mouth. “The seat of the Washington Territory has more wild
horses than werewolves.”
“Wild horses?”
“I’ve been told it’s the only herd in the Canadian Cascades.”
“When do I leave?”
He laughed but put up a hand. “I can’t guarantee you’ll get an opportunity to see them—or even
get near them. Don’t forget, you’re a Turned wolf now. Most animals loathe us.”
“That’s a chance I’ll take.”
“You might have to spend your birthday away from home.”
She waved a hand. “I’m not worried about it.” Her party plans were a bust, anyway.
He studied her for a second. Then he gave a nod. “D'accord.” Okay. “I’ll have Remy book a
flight.”
She jumped up. There was so much to do—packing and shopping. Definitely shopping. Upstate
New York was cold, but it wasn’t the Cascades.
The Cascades with wild freaking ponies to love. She’d go on a date or two, whatever. But she
was most definitely going to see those horses.
She whirled and headed for the door, her head spinning with tasks she needed to accomplish
before she left for her mountain adventure.
 “Haley.”
Max’s voice stopped her. Crap. She’d just turned her back on the Alpha without being dismissed.
She spun around. “Sorry. I was just—”
“Pas de problème.” No worries. He’d stood, and now he circled the desk and stopped in front of
it. “There’s just one last thing.”
“Yes?” She forced herself to stand still, even as every part of her wanted to bolt out the door,
drive into town, and load up on ski jackets and hiking boots.
Max cleared his throat. “The Washington Alpha. He’s not exactly . . .”
She tilted her head. It wasn’t like Max to be at a loss for words. “What is it?”
“He’s not the warm and fuzzy type.”
A chuckle escaped her before she could stop it. “No offense, Max, but I’ve yet to meet an Alpha
who is.”
That got a faint smile out of him. But then his eyes turned serious. “Bard Bennett has experienced
hardships in life. Just be careful around him. Stay courteous and respectful.”
Good grief. He made it sound like she planned on acting rude or obnoxious. She opened her
mouth, but he lifted a hand.
“I phrased that wrong.” He smiled. “I know you’ll mind your manners. Anyway, you probably
won’t see him much.”
Probably not. Most Alphas were too busy to play host to visitors. She might meet him, but she
was unlikely to do more than shake his hand.
Max looked at his watch. “It’s still early yet. If you leave now, you can probably hit the stores
before they close.”
Casual. Act casual. “Yeah, I could probably use a few things.”
His raised eyebrow let her know he wasn’t fooled for a second. “Go ahead and use the pack
credit card.”
“Really?”
“My treat. Just spend judiciously.”
She straightened her shoulders. “I’ll be a model of judicious spending.”
“Mmmhmm.” He turned and headed behind his desk.
Dismissed, she made a beeline for the doors, visions of cute ski gear spinning through her head.
And if she worried about Max’s puzzling warning about the Washington Alpha—or how his smile
hadn’t quite reached his eyes when he spoke of Bard Bennett—well, she was just nervous about the
trip. Who wouldn’t be? She was traveling three thousand miles for a blind date.
As she hit the hallway and headed for the stairs, she shoved her misgivings aside.
Washington meant mountains and horses and maybe even romance. Plus, her birthday was coming
up.
Oh yeah, this was going to be the best birthday ever.
 3

S o much for a welcoming committee.

Haley huddled inside the airport’s lone hangar and watched through the frost-covered
window as the pilot worked outside. Errant snowflakes whirled around him, and a dusting of
snow covered the ground. Lit by the smattering of lights from the modest runway, he tossed what
looked like a giant plastic blanket over the two-seater plane. A few hours earlier, he’d fetched her
from the baggage claim area in the Sea-Tac Airport after her commercial flight from New York. It
hadn’t been hard to spot him among the throng of humans.
Well, sense him, really.
Like most of her kind, she could “feel” the presence of other wolves—a sort of sixth sense that
was more pronounced when one of her own species mingled in a crowd of humans. There might as
well have been a giant red arrow blazing over his head.
Thinking to start her trip by making a new friend, she’d grabbed her suitcase, walked over, and
introduced herself.
He’d responded with a low grunt. It had taken her a minute to translate it as “Joel.”
And that was pretty much the extent of their conversation for the rest of the trip. He’d given her a
curt nod, turned on his heel, and headed for the double doors that led outside. After a few seconds of
shock and confusion, she’d tipped her suitcase onto its wheels and followed him into the chilly
Seattle night.
Sea-Tac was huge, and she was huffing and puffing by the time they reached a small row of metal
buildings tucked behind one of the commercial runways. Massive jetliners screamed into the air as
Joel waved her back, then climbed inside a white Cessna and started the engine. After a minute, he
climbed out and loaded her suitcase into the plane’s tiny storage compartment. Then he motioned her
in a wide arc around the spinning propeller, gesturing for her to get inside.
“I hope you’re a pilot,” she’d said, buckling her seatbelt.
He’d given her a look.
“That was a joke.”
Another grunt—an incoherent one this time—and then he handed her a headset and taxied them
onto a small runway that ran parallel to the one the big planes used.
“Um.” Her voice crackled in her ears as the plane’s comm system kicked in. “Where are we
going?”
Another look—and this time Joel’s expression let her know he seriously doubted her intelligence.
“Elder Lake.”
 She forced a smile. “Just checking.” She didn’t add “in case you were a deranged kidnapper” but
she hoped the general sentiment hung in the air.
The flight north had taken a little over an hour, and she’d sat white-knuckled as wind buffeted the
small plane. She wasn’t normally a nervous flyer, but the Cessna’s constant pitching and shuddering
had made the turkey wrap she ate for lunch threaten to make a second appearance.
Fortunately, she managed not to barf on her shoes—or Joel. He’d touched them down in a barren
airfield with a dirt runway and a lonely metal building that looked more like a shed than a hangar.
Here and there, dirty snow had been pushed into small hills that would probably turn the runway into
a mud pit once the weather warmed up.
Judging from the gusts of icy wind swirling around the airfield, that wasn’t going to happen
anytime soon.
Near the plane, Joel fastened the tarp under one of the wings.
After helping her down the Cessna’s narrow fold-out steps, he’d said he needed to “tuck in” the
plane for the night. Then he pointed her toward the darkened hangar and told her to wait for her pack
escort.
Wind battered the window, making her suck in a quick breath. A second later, a sharp ache shot
through her forehead.
The altitude. Right. Aside from some awe-inspiring glimpses of Mount Ranier on the flight into
Seattle, she hadn’t really noticed the mountains. That had changed as Joel flew the Cessna north.
She stepped forward and peered out the dirt-smudged window. There was no denying she was in
the Cascades. They loomed over everything—majestic peaks that seemed like they might topple onto
the scrubby airfield at any moment.
A thump outside drew her attention. Joel still bustled around the plane, his ski jacket unzipped and
flapping in the wind as he pulled her suitcase from the storage compartment and set it on the ground.
Two lights appeared in the darkness behind him.
She held her breath as her stomach fluttered. Those were headlights. They pierced through the
gloom, the beams bouncing as a vehicle navigated the dirt road that led to the airfield.
Her escort? Maybe even Benjamin Rupert himself?
Her stomach did a nervous flip. She pressed closer to the window, which showed her reflection.
A young woman with blue eyes and a tangle of light brown curls crammed under a knit beanie stared
back at her. Her looks were nothing remarkable—not like the glossy dark hair and porcelain skin of
Lizette. She didn’t have Sophie’s long legs and voluptuous curves or Lily’s fiery red hair and glinting
green eyes.
She wasn’t ugly. She was just . . . average. Nothing to write home about.
Nothing to impress a young male looking for a lifelong mate.
She didn’t even have a Gift.
The headlights grew brighter as the vehicle approached.
Her heart pounded.
By the plane, Joel looked up and waved at the vehicle, which turned out to be a black Chevy
Tahoe. It pulled next to the plane and stopped. Then the door opened and a man got out.
She swallowed. Maybe the hangar had a back door. If she hurried, she could slip out before
anyone noticed she was gone. Sure, she didn’t know how to survive in the mountains—or anywhere,
really—but she was a werewolf. How hard could it be? She’d ditch her clothes, shift, and then head
south until she found civilization.
The SUV’s headlights made it impossible to make out the man’s features. He was just a tall,
faceless silhouette. Joel walked over to him and started talking.
About her? What would he say? Yeah, she asked if I was a pilot and then wanted to know where
I was taking her. Not too bright, that one.
She let out a shaky breath, which formed a round circle of condensation on the window.
The male from the SUV listened with his head bowed as Joel spoke . . . or maybe he stood that
way due to the height difference between the two men. Because Joel was considerably shorter.
Which meant SUV guy was well over six feet. Like most werewolves, Joel wasn’t small. Still, the
other male towered over him.
She drew closer to the window, trying to make out his features. Handsome would be nice, but he
shouldn’t be too handsome. If they were seriously mismatched in the looks department, people would
always wonder how she landed him. They’d wonder if she had a trust fund or some kind of lucrative
influencer business. Or that she’d blackmailed him into marrying her.
Wait. She shook her head. You’re moving way too fast, Michaels. She hadn’t even met the guy and
she was already planning their nuptials? If she gave off that desperate of a vibe, she was going to
scare him off before he even had a chance to get to know her. She might as well march up to him, stick
out her hand, and say, “Hi, I’m Haley. Don’t be alarmed, but I picked out our wedding colors and
some names for our future babies.”
Massive cringe.
What she needed was a quick chat with Lizette. The Alpha’s wife had worked as a teaching
assistant all through college. She knew how to talk to males—especially young males. It didn’t hurt
that she was stop-traffic-gorgeous.
Outside, the taller man slapped Joel on the shoulder, then turned and headed toward the hangar.
Haley gasped. He was walking straight at the hangar. At her!
Except, wait a second. He wasn’t so much walking as he was . . . limping. That was the only way
to describe his gait. The car’s headlights blazed at his back, making his body a solid black shadow
haloed by the harsh beams. With each step, he sort of flung out his right leg and then hauled the left
one behind him. The movements were jerky and unnatural, and they made his shoulders shift up and
down as he made his way to the hangar.
Was he injured? It wasn’t unheard of for young males to get hurt now and then, especially if they
got caught up in a dominance contest.
Or, as she liked to call it, senseless dick measuring. Their species had enough problems without
idiot men maiming or killing each other over who was manlier.
A sigh built in her chest. If this Benjamin Rupert was prone to stupid dominance challenges, she
was getting on a plane tomorrow. The silhouetted man continued limping forward. Behind him, Joel
finished with the Cessna, then headed toward an old pickup truck she hadn’t noticed before.
Panic zipped down her spine. He was leaving her? Alone with Rupert? Sure, the taciturn pilot
hadn’t been much of a traveling companion, but he was literally the only person she knew in this
place.
The door squealed, yanking her attention away from the window and Joel’s departure. Yellow
light spilled across the concrete floor, and a pair of broad shoulders filled the doorway. The stranger
stood less than a dozen feet away, but she still couldn’t make out his features—or anything else about
him.
Except that he was big. Very big.
She fought the urge to take a step back. Rule number one when facing down a predator? Don’t
show fear.
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
started out independently. Though he had little to begin with and
has worked out his own destiny, his .success is not less substantial
than that of many men better favored at the beginning. He farmed
as a renter for about three years, and then invested his surplus in
his present farm. It is located on the Galena Pike, and 100 acres lie
in the rich and fertile Scioto Vallev. During
 664 HANGING ROCK IRON REGION his ownership some
substantial buildings have been erected, including a frame residence,
with two barns, and cribs with capacity of 6,000 bushels of corn on
the cob. The buildings and their grounds are all in the Village of
Rapptown, which is an addition to Davis Division. The location is on
the west side of Galena Pike, and it commands a tine view of the
Scioto Valley and the region beyond. Mr. Hinze was first married in
1871 to Elizabeth Malone. She was born in AVashington Township, a
daughter of Isaac and Mary Ann (Utt) Malone, her father of Scotch-
Irish and her mother of German ancestry. 'Slvs. Hinze died in 1908,
leaving the following children: Es.sie, Ida, John, Tracey, Homer,
Carrie, Archie, Alabel and Glen. The daughter Essie married John
Seymour and has one child, Elizabeth. Ida married Edward Long.
Mabel is the wife of George Chackart, and has a daiighter named
Alna Lorene. John married Lola Seymour, and has a son, Ralph.
Tracey married Miss Rose, and tlieir two sons arc Stanley and Cecil.
Carrie married Esse Hill and has a daughter named Garnet. After the
death of his first wife Mr. Hinze married Mrs. Elizabeth (Graham)
Deal. She was born in Washington Township, a daughter of Peter
Noel Graham, who was a native of Union Township and his parents.
James and Margaret (Noel) Graham, were among the pioneers of
Scioto County. I'eter N. Graham was a man of superior education for
his time. During his residence in Washington Township from the age
of sixteen until his death at sixty-four he proved himself a successful
farmer and was honored with a number of local offices. He married
Alargaret I^tt, who was l>orn in Pennsylvania, came to Ohio at the
age of seven with her parents, and died at the age of thirtynine.
Mrs. Hinze 's first husband, Henry Deal, a native of Kentucky,
operated a stone quarry on Gary's Run for several years before his
death, which occurred at the age of forty-one. Mrs. Hinze by her first
marriage has four children, named Clara Belle, Elizabeth M., Henry V.
and Wilber P. Mr. Hinze 's parents were faithful members of the
Lutheran faith, but as there is no church of that denomination in
Washington Township he has united with and worships in the Old
Town IVlethodist Episcopal Church. John Wittm.vn. One of the oldest
men in Jackson County is John Wittman. who has lived in this part of
Ohio more than three-quarters of a century. His years of activity
were spent as a farmer, and have been fruitful in tlie things that go
with material prosperity and also
 HANGING ROCK IRON REGION 665 in tlie honor paid a
good citizen who rears a family of useful men and women. John
Wittman was born near Allentown, Pennsylvania, May 5, 1830, and
is now eighty-six years old. His father was Henry Wittman, a native
of Pennsylvania, while the grandfather saw service as a teamster in
the army of General Washington, and was at Valley Forge during
that memorable winter that passed with so much suffering to the
American troops and with so much gloom to all the hard-pressed
colonies. Henry Wittman for an occupation learned the trade of
shoemaker. There were no shoe factories then, turning out footwear
by machinery, and the cobbler was a useful man in every
community, did all his work by hand, and made boots and shoes
only by order. In 1838 he left Pennsylvania with his family and came
to Ohio. No railroads had yet been built west of the Alleghenies, and
the journey was made by wagon and canal boat. They tarried awhile
in Stark County, then went to Columbus, and on reaching Piketon
took a team and wagon for the rest of the distance to Jackson
County. Their location was in Scioto Township, where several
Pennsylvania German families had preceded them. There Henry
Wittman bought a tract of timber land, erected a log cabin, and that
was the first home of the Wittmans in Ohio. The winter months were
spe^t in cobbling for the settlers, while the rest of the year he spent
in clearing off his land and tilling the soil. Henry Wittman died in that
locality after a life of nearly eighty years. The maiden name of his
wife was Lizzie Morey, a native of Pennsylvania and of German
ancestry. She died soon after coming to Ohio, but six of her children
grew up, as follows: Man', Catherine, Jesse, Elizabeth, William and
John. John Wittman, the only survivor of this family, was reared to
the vocation of agriculture, and for an education had to depend
upon the primitive instruction of subscription schools. After reaching
manhood he bought an unimproved farm near the old home, and for
many years was busied with its clearing and cultivation. He still lives
there, and in spite of his age is a hale and clear-minded old man.
John Wittman married Elizabeth Ann Eliek, who was born in
Portsmouth, Ohio, in 1842. Her father, David Elick, was bom in
Germany, came to America in young manhood, and was employed in
the iron works at Portsmouth, which city was his home until his
death. Both he and his wife, whose maiden name was Anna Leser,
died of the cholera in 1854. They left six children. Their son, David
Elick, was well known in Portsmouth, where for years he published
the Tribune, but in 1883 moved to Minneapolis, where he and Mr.
Alvord founded the Commercial Bulletin.
 6ri6 HANGING ROCK IRON REGION Elizabeth Ann Elick was
a small child when her mother died, and she made her home with
her grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Henry Leser, until her marriage." She
died in 1910 at the age of sixty-eight. She was the mother of ten
children, all of whom live to revere her memory. Their names are:
Hattie, Ann, James D., John H., Frances E., George B., William J.,
Harry S., Cecilia C. and Jessie M. James D. Wittman. One of the sons
of John Wittman, whose career and family lineage are sketched
above, is James D. Wittman, now secretary and treasurer of the
jMorning Star Publishing Company of Portsmouth, and for many
years active in newspaper work. He was born in October, 1866, in
Scioto Township of Jackson County, and spent his early life on the
homestead still occupied by his father. The rural schools gave him
his first instruction, and later he was a student in the Jackson
Academy and in 1888 graduated from the National Normal University
at Lebanon. His work, which he followed for several years, was
teaching, and he was connected with the schools of Jackson County.
From that he turned his attention to journalism, and for fourteen
years was editor of the Jackson Herald. In 1914 he came to
Portsmouth, and became one of the founders of the Morning Star,
and is now secretary and treasurer of the company that publishes
that paper. Fraternally he is a member of Trowel Lodge, Ancient Free
and Accepted Ma^^ons, of the Royal Arch Chapter and the Council,
and of Jackson Commandery of Knights Templar ; also of Theseus
Lodge, Knights of Pythias. Mr. Wittman was married July 26, 1900,
to Clara F. Drake, who was born in Brockton, ]\Iassachusetts, a
daughter of Francis and Lyphenia E.
 HANGING ROCK IRON REGION 667 of general merchandise
at what was then called Whitman but is now Glade Station. Besides
general merchandise he was also in the lumber business, and was
the principal merchant of that little community until 1912. He then
removed to farm he still occupies, in Nile Township, where he has
500 acres, a portion of it in the fertile bottoms along the river. Few
farms in the township measure up to the general standard of
improvement and management maintained by Mr. Wittman. His
residence, built of stone, is one of the interesting landmarks of that
community, and is one of the oldest homes still standing and in use
in the county. While superintending the cultivation of his farm to
general crops, I\Ir. Wittman is also clearing off the timber, which is
being sawed into lumber for the local markets. Mr. Wittman was
married in 1903 to ]\Iiss Blanche Gordon, a woman of education and
culture, who has since presided over his home. She was born in
Stoekdale, Pike County, Ohio, a daughter of William B. and Mary
Gordon. To their marriage have bften born two children, Huber and
Harold. Mr. and ]\Irs. Wittman are members of the McKendree
Methodist Episcopal Church, while he affiliates with Alhambra Lodge,
Knights of Pythias. Politically a democrat, he cast his first vote for
William J. Bryan. Ernst Horschel. Successfully conducting one of the
attractive and popular meat markets of the city of Ironton, J\Ir.
Horschel has shown marked ability and circumspection in catering to
the demands of an appreciative patronage and is one of the
substantial and loyal business men of the Iron City. Mr. Horschel was
born in Germaiiy, on the 16th of June, 1844, and is a son of
Frederick and Barbara (Blackschmidt) Horschel, who passed their
entire lives in the German Fatherland, where the father, was a
farmer and butcher, his birth having occurred in 1803, and his death
in 1871, in which year occurred also the death of his wife, who was
born in 1798 and who was thrice married, the name of her first
husband having been Horn, and that of her second husband
Cronaeher. Henry Horn was the only child of the first marriage, and
Frederick Cronaeher the one child of the second marriage. Of the six
children of the third union, Ernst Horschel, of this review, is the only
one living, he being the youngest of the number. The names of the
deceased children were as here noted: Andrew, Ernestina, Sophia,
Edward, Rosina and Ernst. Ernst Horschel attended the schools of his
native land until he was fourteen years of age, and thereafter he
was employed at farm work and in the butcher shop of his father
until 1864, when, at the age of twenty years, he immigrated to the
United States. He made Ironton, Ohio, his
 668 HANGING ROCK IRON REGION destination and here he
found employment in the meat market conducted by his two half-
brothers, Henry Horn and Frederick Cronacher. In 1884 he opened a
market of his own, and he has since continued without interruption
in the meat-market business in Ironton, being now the pioneer
representative of this line of enterprise in the city and having won
success through industry, careful management and reliable service.
■Retaining the best traditions of his native land, ]\Ir. Horschel has
entered fully into the progressive spirit of the United States and is
emphatically loyal and appreciative as an American citizen. He is
aligned as a supporter of the republican party, and he and his family
are communicants of the Lutheran church. Mr. Horschel has been
ambitious and self-reliant and has made good use of the advantages
afforded in the land of his adoption, with the result that his material
success is on a parity with his personal hold upon popular
confidence and good will. He is a stockholder in the Masting Steel
Company, the Foster Stove Company, the Citizens' National Bank of
Ironton, and a stockholder and director of the First National Bank of
this city, besides which he is the owner of valuable real estate,
including twenty-four acres of attractive hill land in Upper township,
a residence and business building at 272 South Third Street and
three business blocks opposite his meat market building on South
Third Street. On the 18th of June, 1869, at the home of the bride's
parents, in Scioto county, was solemnized the marriage of ^Ir.
Horschel to I\Iiss Elizabeth Froncin, daughter of the late Frederick
Froncin, and she has proved his valued helpmeet and devoted
companion during the long intervening years. Concerning their
children, the following brief record is given in conclusion of this
sketch: Ernst F., who is the manager of the Ironton Automobile
Garage, wedded Miss Anna Gills, and they have two children; Henry
C. who is associated Avith his father in the meat-market business,
married Miss Lizzie Mahoney, and they have one child ; Frederick F.,
who is engaged in the insurance business and is serving as city
treasurer of Ironton, married Miss Ida Delaney, and they have two
children ; Ernestine, who remains at the parental home, is a talented
artist who devotes special attention to china painting ; and Jacob is
likewise associated with his father's business. George Mayne, chief
of the department of police of the city of Ironton has won promotion
to the head of his department both because of his fearlessness as an
officer and his executive talents. A native of Ironton, he has been
connected with the police force for a period of seventeen vears, and
his record is one of which any official might well be proud.
 HANGING ROCK IRON REGION 669 Chief Mayiie was born
February 3, 1868, and is a son of John C. and Lnema (Rowe) Mayne.
John C. Mayne was born near Blossburg, Pennsylvania, in 1835, and
in his native locality was engaged as a teamster and rolling mill man.
Subsequently he enlisted for service in the Civil war as a member of
the Forty-fifth Kentucky Mounted Infantry. After serving for eighteen
niojiths under arms he was made a teamster, and so completed his
military service, being thus engaged for two years. Following his
honorable discharge, Mr. Mayne came to the Hanging Rock Region,
about the year 1865, and here continued to follow rolling mill work
during the balance of his active career. Mrs. Mayne was born in Pike
county, Kentucky, in 1810, and was eighteen years of age when she
came to Ironton, Ohio, where she still makes her home. She has
been the mother of six children, as follows : John A., George,
Thomas R., Charles A., Esther A. and Grace. George Mayne received
only ordinary educational advantages in the public schools, for at the
age of twelve years he laid aside his books to begin to learn the
trade of cooper. He continued to be employed at that vocation for
some thirteen years, and then entered the rolling mills, where lie
remained three years. In 1897 Mr. Mayne qualified for the police
force of Ironton and began his duties in that year, and as a tribute to
his character as a brave, active and efficient officer, he speedily won
promotion until February 13, 1914, he reached the height of his
deserved promotions, being appointed chief of police. He has since
demonstrated a marked administrative ability, and has instilled a new
spirit of earnestness and reform into the service. Chief Mayne was
married February 11, 1898, at Ironton, to Miss Emma Evans,
daughter of Evan Evans of this city, and six children have been born
to this union : Newell E., George E., Irving, Ruth, Elizabeth, and
Avonell, of whom Ruth is deceased. Politically, Chief Mayne is a
republican. With his family, he attends the Baptist church, in the
work of which he has been active. He owns an attractive home and
spends much of his time there, but is also fond of the
companionship of his fellows and is a popular member of the
Encampment of the Independent Order of Odd Fellows, the Knights
of Pythias, and the Junior Order United American Mechanics. When
he can spare the time from his arduous official duties he takes
hunting trips and fishing excursions into the mountains, always
accompanied by his family. Charles F. Miller. A resident of Ironton
since 1871, Charles F. ^Miller has been long identified with the
business interests of this city, and through enterprise, industry and
good management has gained a
 670 HANGING ROCK IRON REGION place for himself
among the substantial class of citizens. He is a native of Germany,
born at Worms, November 29, 1848, and is a son of Charles F. and
Kathryn (Mumm) Miller. His father, a police officer in Germany, never
came to the United States, passing away in 1860, at the age of fifty
years. The mother, born in Germany in 1830, survived until 1902.
There were four children in the family: William, Louisa, Elsie and
Charles F. Charles F. Miller attended the public schools of his native
land until reaching the age of twelve years, at which time his father
died and he was forced to go to w^ork in order to assist in the
support of the family. Learning the tinner's trade, he worked thereat
in Germany until 1866, and in that year, deciding that opportunities
for success were greater in America, came to this country and
settled at Allegheny, Pennsylvania, that city being his home until
1868. Following this he spent three years at Marietta, Ohio, but in
1871 came to Ironton, and here worked at his trade as a
journeyman until 1891, when, with Joseph Marquard as a partner, he
established a business of his own. The firm of ^Miller & Marquard
grew and prospered until 1901, when Mr. Marquard died, and since
that time Mr. ]\Iiller has continued the business alone. He has been
very successful, and feels that prosperity has come to him because
he has endeavored faithfully to give full value for every dollar
received by him, and to give his own personal attention to details of
the business. In addition to his place of business, on South Second
Street, Mr. Miller owns his own home at No. 257 South Seventh
Street. He is a valued member of the Chamber of Commerce, and in
numerous ways has assisted in the growth and development of his
adopted city, where he has resided for so many years. He is a
democrat, but not a politician, and has never asked favors of his
party. Mr. Miller is a member of St. Joseph's Catholic congregation
and of the Knights of Columbus. Mr. Miller was married April 23,
1872, at Marietta, Ohio, to INliss Barbara Sehillott, daughter of John
Schillott, and seven children were born to this union : Clara, who
married Matthew 0 'Shaunessy, a clerk at Columbus, Ohio, and has
four children : jMiller M., Mary, Kathryn, and Jack ; George, who
married Nellie Gillman, a salesman and lives in California ; Emory,
who married Lena Heitsman, is a tinner in partnership with his
father, and has one child, Charles J. ; Otto, who is deceased ; Karl,
who is single and resides with his parents; Helen, who married Elmer
Anderson, now employed by the Union Gas and Fuel Company at
Huntington, West Virginia ; and Ida, who is deceased. The meniliers
of this family are all widely known and highly esteemed.
 HANGING ROCK IRON REGION 671 John D. Helbling. The
reputation of the successful general contractors of the Hanging Rock
Region is not made in a day, prosperity in this ])road field
demanding not alone unusual abilities, but thorough training and
broad experience. Commencing in business at Ironton some twenty-
two years ago, John D. Helbling has steadily advanced to the front in
reputation and the legitimate rewards of svich a standing, and as a
member of the firm of Wileman & Helbling shares in the prosperity
that has come to one of Ironton 's progressive ventures. Mr. Helbling
was liorn November 15, 1864, in Brown County, Ohio, and is a son of
Michael and Kathryn (Ring) Helbling. Michael Helbling was born in
Pennsylvania, in 1837, and for many years was engaged in the
manufacture of bricks, but since 1911 has lived retired from active
pursuits, and now makes his home at Ironton. Mrs. Helbling, who
was born in Germany, in 1838, and came to the United States in
girlhood, died in 1912, having been the mother of nine children, as
follows : May ; John D., of this review ; Nicholas li., who is deceased
; Margaret ; William ; Kathryn ; Flora ; Charles D., and Luella, who is
deceased. Until reaching the age of fifteen years, John D. Helbling
attended the public schools of Ironton, and at that time began to
learn the trade of brick mason, working in his father's brick yard and
continuing to lie thus engaged until 1892. In that year he formed a
partnership with Harry Wileman, under the firm style of Wileman &
Helbling, and they have since carried on a prosperous and constantly
increasing business, their plant and stock now being valued at
$7,000. Mr. Helbling is a business man of more than ordinary ability,
and his standing is that of one who adheres to the strictest principles
of integrity and honorable dealing. Although he devotes the greater
part of his attention to his brick manufacturing and general
contracting business, he also has other interests, is a stockholder of
the Ironton Artificial Stone Company, and owns his own residence on
South Third Street and a residence property in the same locality. He
is a valued member of the Chamber of Commerce, and his fraternal
connection is with the Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks. With
his family, he attends St. Joseph's Catholic Church. IMovements
calculated to benefit his adopted city and its people always find in
him a stalwart supporter, but he has taken no active part in politics
save as a republican voter. On July 12, 1892, at the home of the
bride, Mr. Helbling was united in marriage with Miss Kathryn
Spanner, daughter of Conrad Spanner, of Ironton, and to this union
there have come three children : Frances, Cecelia, and Emerson.
The children have all been given good educational
 672 HANGING ROCK IRON REGION advantages, and the
Misses Helbling hold positions as stenographers in the office of the
C. & 0. Railway. The family home is at No. 196 South Third Street.
Joseph J. Abele. Though he is able to claim the fine old Keystone
State of the Union as the place of his nativity, this well-known citizen
and representative business man of Ironton, Lawrence County, has
resided in this city since he was a boy of five years, and liere he has
found opportunity for the achieving of marked success along norma!
and productive lines of enterprise, the while he has never permitted
himself to Ije deflected in the least from the straight course of
industry and integrity, with the result that he has not been denied
the fullest measure of popular confidence and esteem. Mr. Abele
owns and operates a well equipped and thoroughly modern planing
mill and manufactory of sash, doors and blinds, the plant
representing a valuation of about $9,000, and here he has built up a
large and prosperous business, the scope and importance of which
give him place as one of the substantial and influential business men
of the thriving city of Ironton. Joseph J. Abele was born in the
immediate vicinity of the city of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, on the 5th
of July, 1856, and is a son of Andrew and Nancy (Bulsinger) Abele,
both natives of Germany, where the former was born in 1835, and
the latter in 1848. The marriage of the parents was solemnized in
their native land, whence they iunnigrated to America in the early
'50s. They continued their residence in Pennsylvania until about the
time of the inception of the Civil war, when they came to Ironton,
Ohio, where Andrew Abele for many years held the position of
superintendent of the yards of the firm of Wise & Woruer, who
operated the first planing mill in Ironton. In this city he continued to
maintain his home, a sterling and honored citizen, uiitil the close of
his life, in 1909, his loved and cherished wife having been
sununoned to eternal rest in the preceding year, so that, after long
years of loving companionship, they were not long separated in
death. Of their eight children four are living: Joseph J., Cynthia,
John, and George. Joseph J. Abele, as previously stated, was five
years of age at the time of the family removal from Pennsylvania to
Ironton, and to the public schools of this city he is inde])ted for his
early educational advantages, the discipline having been effectively
supplemented by the ]es.son gained in the practical school of
experience. At the age of thirteen years IMr. Abele }>egan working
in a saw mill, and he continued to be identified with various phases
of lumber manufacturing until 1905, when he initiated an
independent career by leasing the planing mill of the Ironton Lumber
Company. This he operated about eighteen months and he then
 HANGING ROCK IRON REGION 673 purchased his present
plant, in 1907, since which year he has here carried forward a
specially prosperous business, his patronage being firmly based
upon effective service and fair and honorable dealings. Mr. Abele
gives close and effective attention to his business but does not
permit the same to so hedge him in that he fails to accord loyal
support to enterprises and movements tending to advance the social
and material welfare of his home city, where he is known as a
progressive and public-spirited citizen and as a stalwart supporter of
the cause of the democratic party. In addition to his manufacturing
plant he is the owner of the residence property which constitutes the
attractive family home, and he is an activt' member of the Ironton
Chamber of Commerce. He and his family are communicants of the
Catholic Churcn, as members of the parish of St. Joseph's Church,
and he is affiliated with the Knights of St. George. On the 15th of
July, 1878, was solemnized the marriage of Mr. Abele to Miss Emma
Mary Hubbard, daughter of the late Michael and Eliza (Meyer)
Hubbard, of Kelley's Mills, Lawrence County, and all of the four
children remain at the parental home : Mary, who is a dressmaker by
vocation; Charles, who is associated with his father in business; and
Alma and Julius. Moses Greenberg. For many years the United States
and its business opportunities have been exploited in other lands,
and to this country's shores have come people of every land to take
advantage of these. A welcome has been extended to all, and many
of the prosperous citizens of our most thriving communities are
those of foreign birth. A native of Russia, R. Greenberg came to
America in young manhood, and after some experience in various
other sections, finally settled permanently at Ironton, Ohio, where
he has since developed an excellent business and has taken his
place among the men who are maintaining the city's prestige in
commercial circles. Mr. Greenberg was born in Russia, January 20,
1866, and is a son of Joseph Greenberg, who was born in that
country in 1803. The father was a teacher by vocation, and never
came to the United States, dying iu his native land in 1896. Mr.
Greenberg never knew a mother's care, for she died when he was an
infant, he being the youngest of a family of five children. He w^as
educated in Russia, largely under his father's preceptorship until
thirteen years of age, and at that time began to share
responsibilities with his brothers and sisters in the support of the
family. When nineteen years old he went to Turkey, which country he
made his home until coming to America in 1888. For one year after
his arrival he resided" at Cincinnati, Ohio, and then went to Indian
Territory, where he established himself in the general merchandise
business and remained
 674 HANGING ROCK IRON REGION until 1896, meeting
with a fair measure of success. In that year he returned to
Cincinnati, but in 1899 came to Ironton, where he engaged in the
scrap iron and second-hand business, in which he has continued to
the present time. This venture, commenced in a modest way,
steadily grew under Mr. Greenberg's native industry and business
ability, and is now one of the thriving enterprises of Ironton. He
deals in wholesale hides, wools, scrap iron, metals, furs, roots,
ginseng, beeswax, rubber and second-hand machinery, and is the
owner of his own business property on North Second Street, in
addition to a comfortable, modern residence at No. 208 South Fifth
Street. Mr. Greenberg is a stockholder in the Home Telephone
Company and a director in the Ironton Malleable Iron Works. He
holds membership in the Chamber of Commerce. His religion is that
of the Jewish faith, and his political belief that of the republican
party, although political matters have played little part in his life
here. His success is well merited and has been gained through
constant and sturdy application, good business ability and honorable
dealing with those who have been associated with him in
transactions. Mr. Greenberg was married June 30, 1890, to Miss
Rosie Lapin, at that time a resident of Covington, Kentucky, but a
native of Germany. They have had one child, who died in infancy.
Harry H. Campbell. A man of marked prominence in business,
political, church and social circles, Harry H. Campbell has been an
important factor in the substantial growth and development of
Ironton, and as president of the Ironton Wood Mantel Company, is
the directing head of an enterprise that contributes substantially to
the prestige of this city as an important business center. Mr.
Campbell has been a resident of the city all of his life, having been
born here May 17, 1853, and is a son of Hiram and Elizabeth
(Woodrow) Campbell. Hiram Campbell was born at Blue Lick Springs,
back of Maysville, Kentucky, in 1812, and as a young man migrated
to Ohio, where for a long period of years he was identified with iron
furnaces and was known as a substantial and resourceful business
man. In his later years he retired with a competency, and lived
quietly until his death, which occurred in 1896. Mrs. Campbell was
born at Hillsboro, Ohio, in 1816, and is also deceased, she being the
mother of four children, namely: Marie, who l)ecame the wife of J.
H. Moulton and now resides at Ironton ; John W., whose home is in
Virginia; Joseph H., of Cincinnati, Ohio; and Harry H. Harry H.
Campbell received his education in the public schools of Ironton, and
at the Miami University, and as a young man joined his father in
business. Subsequently he embarked in ventures of his own,
 HANGING ROCK IRON REGION 675 and eventually became
the founder of the Ironton Wood Mantel Company. Avhich he has
since continued to conduct with much success. He is a stockholder in
the Ohio Iron and Coal Company, and has various other interests of
an important character, and has evidenced his confidence in the
future of Ironton by investing in property here, owning his own
home and two other houses and lots. He has done much to advance
Ironton 's interests in a business way, and has been one of the most
active members of the Chamber of Commerce, with which he has
been connected since its inception. A republican in politics, he has
stood high in the councils of his party, and for eight years has served
conscientiously and capably as a member of the city council, winning
re-election by reason of his support of his fellow-citizens' interests
and privileges. Always an active, virile man, Mr. Campbell has found
much pleasure in out-door sports. Educational and religious
movements have in him a stanch supporter, and he holds
membership in the Presliyterian church, where he is serving in the
dual capacity of elder and treasurer. On May 27, 1878, at the home
of the bride, Mr. Campbell was united in marriage with ]\Iiss Lizzie
Bixby, daughter of E. Bixby, a resident of Ironton. Six children have
been born to this union, namely : Marian, who became the wife of R.
E. ^Mitchell, a professional singer of Ironton, and has four children :
Gordon, Edwin, Elizabeth, and an infant ; Lawrence, who was
married June 27, 1907, to Alice Clarke, daughter of C. C. Clarke, a
prominent business man of Ironton, and has one child, Rolston C. ;
Henrj-, and Frank, who are single and reside with their parents; and
two children who are deceased. Fra.xk F. Phillips. The active
])usiness life of Frank F. Phillips has ])een connected with the most
important period in the development of Ironton and is linked Avith
the founding of one of those industries whieh have stimulated the
city's growth and have been the basis of its manufacturing prestige.
His is a career eminentlj'^ worthy of emulation. Commencing life in
practical obscurity and modest circumstances, laboring in humble
positions with steady industry, and practicing economy and so])riety,
at length he has seen his arduous etforts l)ear fruit and has profited
beyond the fortunes of most men in the value whicli a growing
community confers upon a fortunate location. Frank F. Phillips was
born in Pike County, Ohio, October 7, 1873, and is a son of John and
Harriet (Moore) Phillips. Jolin Phillips was })orn at Lancaster, Ohio, in
1813, and in young manhood learned the trade of blacksmith, which
he was following at the outbreak of the Civil war, when he enlisted
for sei'vice in the Thirty-third Regiment. Ohio Voluiiteci- Infantry.
After comiilcting a very creditalile military service.
 676 HANGING ROCK IRON REGION Mr. Phillips returned to
his Ohio home and again engaged at his trade, but in 1873 came to
the Hanging Roek Region, establishing the Phillips Buggy Works, on
South Second Street, Ironton, of which his son, Frank F., is now the
owner. Mr. Phillips continued to be connected with this business
during the remaining years of his life, and died in July, 1910. He
became a substantial and influential citizen of his community, took
an interest in its advancement and welfare, and won the respect and
esteem of his fellow-citizens through a life characterized by industry
and integrity. The mother, who was born at Lancaster, Ohio, in 1847,
died in February, 1912. There were five children in the family :
Maggie R., who is deceased; Harry L., John H., Frank F., and Walter
M. The primary schools of Ironton furnished Frank F. Phillips with his
early education, but when fourteen years of age laid aside his school
books to enter his father's carriage factory, which business he has
continued to be connected with to the present time. In 1910, at his
father's death, he was made manager of the plant, and July 1, 1913,
became sole owner thereof when he purchased the interests of the
other heirs in the business. Possessing in large degree the energetic
and entei'prising traits of his father's character, he has continued to
make the venture a successful and paying one, and his activities
have resulted in broadening the scope and nature of the business.
The plant is valued in the neighborhood of $15,000, having modern
n^achinery and equipment, and the pi-oduct of the factory is of
such excellent character that Phillips buggies are known all over the
state. Mr. Phillips is a member of the Chamber of Commerce and has
taken an active and interested part in the movements which have
made for Ironton 's advancement along the lines of education and
religion. With his family, he attends the First Methodist Episcopal
Church. He is independent in his political views. Mv. Phillips was
married ]May 15, 1912, at Ironton, to INIiss Beulah Wyatt, daughter
of Joseph and ^Nlary AVyatt, and to this union there has come one
son, Frank F., Jr. Mr. Phillips is a member of the Benevolent and
Protective Order of Elks, but is essentially a home man and there
spends practically all of his leisure time. Nathaniel K. ]Moxley, ]M. D.
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