Shelly Laurenston: Howl for It

“Building,” he replied.

“Oh, you’ve been building onto it?”

“That, too.”

Darla blinked, glanced around without turning her head. “Wait ... you built this place.”

He grunted.

“By yourself?”

“Mostly.”

Fascinated, Darla turned her finger in a circle. “Turn, turn.”

“Huh?”

“I want to see. Show me.”

He stared at her a moment with that deadly frown before he slowly turned in a circle.

Impressed with what she saw, Darla grinned. “This is beautiful, Egbert Ray. Did you design it yourself?”

“No. Cousin of mine gave me the plans. I put it together. When my brothers were sober and not arguing with your sisters, they helped.”

Always amazed by people who could build things with their hands, Darla looked into that scowling face. “It’s beautiful.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. Now it’s true that I can make you an éclair that would have you weeping tears of joy, but other than that, I can’t build a darn thing.”

“Well . . . thank you kindly.” He took another look around. “Ain’t got no furniture, though.”

“You have chairs and a table.”

“Okay. Ain’t got no real furniture.”

“I’m not spun glass, Egbert Ray. My posterior can sit anywhere it has a need to.”

He grunted . . . again, and walked into the hallway. She caught a glimpse of his kitchen and it wasn’t too bad from what she could see. Had all the basics anyway. Then he was taking her up a sturdy set of stairs to the second floor. He took her into the first bedroom and she guessed this was where he slept when he was home. The bed was big and also sturdy. A human king or a bear twin. Based on the thickness of the legs of the frame, she’d guess it was a bear twin.

With great care, he placed her on the bed with her back against the headboard. He stepped back, looked her over.

“Now sleep . . . or something.”

Darla bit the inside of her mouth to prevent a laugh from coming out. Poor thing. He was just used to dealing with other Marines, wasn’t he?

After she got control of herself, Darla said, “The stitches.”

“What about them?”

“I think they need to come out.”

His frown became decidedly worse and she got the feeling maybe she was annoying him.

He motioned her forward and she leaned down a bit. His fingers moved her hair aside and she felt the tips slide across her wound. She trembled a little from the feel of his fingers against her skin, but he immediately pulled his hand back and stepped away.

“I hurt you. Sorry.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I’ll get someone to help you with that.”

“I’m sure you can do—”

But he was already gone, the door closing behind him. A few seconds later she heard him howl to his Pack, although she didn’t know if he was calling for assistance with Darla’s wound or just complaining to the wind.

Deciding not to worry about it either way, Darla settled down onto the bed on her side so that her neck didn’t have to press into the pillow. She tucked her hands under her cheek and let out a deep breath. Before she knew it, she was out cold.

Sighing in relief, Eggie got to his feet and smiled at the She-wolf walking toward him, a big axe over one shoulder, a patch over her left eye.

“Momma,” Eggie said.

“Baby boy.” Pauline Ann Jessop lifted the axe she’d been using to chop wood and rammed it into the stump she passed on her way to the porch steps. “Sorry I missed you when you first got here, darlin’. I was out huntin’ and by the time I got back, your daddy said you were gone off with your brothers.”

The She-wolf lowered her head and stared up at her son through black lashes. “Bubba called last night. He is real unhappy. Thought I told y’all not to go ’round stealin’ girls.”

“I didn’t steal her. I rescued her.”

“And left a pile of human bodies behind.”

“Heard about that already, huh?” He knew that was not something his brothers would ever say over a telephone line, so the information was making it through the Smith channels like summer lightning.

“Of course I did. Now your brothers and those bitches of theirs—”

“Momma.”

“—are on their way home, probably to collect your little girl.”

“Ain’t holding her against her will. She can leave if she wants to.”

“Does she?”

“Don’t know. She’s recovering from a wound she got during the fight. I need you to take out the stitches.”

Pauline frowned. “Darlin’ boy, I know you can take out stitches.”

“Yeah, but . . .” Eggie shrugged, punched his fists into the front pockets of his jeans. “She’s delicate. I got these big hands.”

“If she’s a Lewis, she probably don’t mind those big hands.”

“Momma.”

“Calm yourself.” She walked up the steps, swinging her favorite rifle off her shoulder and handing it to Eggie. “I’ll take care of your little gal. You head to the house and get the food I have for you two. It’s in the pantry—the last place your father will look until he gets real hungry.”

“You sure you’ll be all right?”

Pauline stood on the same step as her six-four son, looking him right in the eyes. “What do you think, boy?”

Darla woke up while the stitches were removed from her neck, but she stayed still and quiet until the stitches were out and the bandage on.

“There ya go, darlin’ girl. All done.”

Surprised to hear a woman’s voice, Darla turned over, but she froze at the sight of a mammoth-sized She-wolf. Honestly, one of the biggest She-wolves she’d ever seen in her dang life.

“Pauline’s the name. The Smith boys’ momma. And you’re Darla.”

Say something! Don’t just sit there! It’s rude!

Darla nodded, although she immediately regretted that particular move. “Yes’m. Darla Mae Lewis.”

“The baby sister of those females lurking ’round my sons.” She stepped away from the bed, using a towel to wipe her hands.

The She-wolf was, in a word, hearty. About her son’s height, with shoulders nearly as wide, she reminded Darla more of a grizzly sow, but . . . stronger. How that was possible Darla didn’t know, since all she scented from the female was wolf.

The eye not covered by a patch was like Eggie’s, too. Wolf-yellow like she was about to shift, even when she wasn’t. Black hair with lots of grey reached her shoulders in a shaggy mess and she wore a sleeveless plaid shirt over loose-fitting and possibly ancient jeans. Work boots were on her enormous feet and she was missing a pinky on her right hand and her middle and forefinger on her left. Darla could be wrong but they looked bitten off. She also had a scar on the side of her neck like something had once taken hold of her there, but Darla had no doubt the woman was healthy as an ox and had every intention of living another three or four thousand years.

“Yes’m, I am.”

“How come I haven’t met you before?”

“I’ve been in San Francisco.”

“What the hell for?”

“Studying.” When the She-wolf stared at her, she added, “To be a pastry chef.”

“You have to study for that?”

“It helps.”

“As ya like,” she sighed, resting her hands on her hips. “You going to be sniffing ’round my boy, too?”

“I’m just on vacation to see my parents. I have no idea what happened last night or how we even got here so fast, but your son did protect me. I’m very grateful to—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Grateful, right. But you going to head back to Smithville as soon as your sisters get here?”

Darla hadn’t known her sisters were coming here but she shrugged. “I guess.”