“So,” he said, “are you suggesting I name her Preservation?”
April’s laughter rang out, clear like wind chimes. “Fair point. How about something literary?”
“Do you mean a character? Or an author?”
“Whichever you prefer.” She shrugged.
It was a good idea. Malachi mulled it and enjoyed the way April allowed him to mull, never tried to rush his thoughts. The kitten stood up, bounded toward him, and leaped off the edge of the counter.
“Don’t do that,” he said, catching her in the cradle of his two hands.
April had lunged toward her too, but human reflexes would have missed. “She trusted you not to let her fall.”
“Or she has no concept yet of lateral distances and long drops to the floor.”
Her side-eye was skeptical. “Well, who are you going to name her after?”
“Let’s call her Flannery O’Connor,” he said.
April blinked, then laughed. “I never would’ve guessed that. All right, let’s. I did notice you own her complete works, but do you actually read her? She’s so…dark and brutal.”
“Her view of the world has always been compelling to me.”
“I guess I need a little more hope in my fiction.”
Malachi set the kitten on the floor, and she scampered over the stone toward the legs of the table and chairs. She dashed beneath a chair and sat down, peering from under it.
“O’Connor buries hope sometimes, but other times you can still find it.” He paused to organize his opinion into something clearer. “I appreciate her moral perspective. At times it aligns with mine; other times it challenges mine. And there’s usually some kind of deep grace being offered to her characters.”
“Characters who don’t accept it,” April said, meeting his gaze with frank challenge and curiosity. “So what’s the point of grace then?”
“Oh,” he said, “the point is that it’s there. That it would’ve changed their lives if they’d seen it and picked it up.”
April studied him for a long minute, her own thoughts visible behind her eyes. At last she shook her head. “Well, I have to admit I never thought about her work that way before. But I can’t say I’ll read her again either.”
“Fair enough. Will a namesake bother you?” He nodded toward the little one under the table.
April grinned. “For a kitten who throws herself off great heights to be caught by her adopted wolf? No, I think it’s perfect.”
Eleven
Forthenextweek,April sank into pack life with the simple willingness of a woman with nowhere else to go. Yet the Lane, as residents referred to it, no longer felt like the lesser of two evils. She no longer felt trapped here. But she still avoided trips to town unless Malachi went with her, and she was beginning to feel a tinge of cabin fever. When Ember showed up on Malachi’s front porch with a dish of her delicious cheese-and-meatball rigatoni bake and an invitation to go get coffee, April wished she didn’t have to decline.
“You really think those wolves will show up here,” Ember said when April came back from refrigerating the dish. “I wondered if you thought he was being extra cautious or what. I knowhethinks that alpha’s coming.”
The way she said it… “Malachi told the pack I have reason to be cautious of wolves. And had to run away.”
Ember nodded.
“Is that…not all he said?”
“Oh,” Ember said. “That’s all most of them know. He’s been clear that further information is up to you.”
“Most of them.”
Ember’s gray eyes held frankness and facts. “My wolf Aaron—you know who he is? Wavy black hair and brown eyes. Big humble teddy bear.”
April couldn’t help smiling at the teasingly affectionate description. “I figured out pretty quickly you two were together.”
