“How’s school, Abigail?” Ed Taylor rose to engulf his future daughter-in-law in a hug. As unwise asIthought the union was, Abby’s marriage to Brian Taylor would create a genetic, personal, and political alliance between her birth Pride and his. Their parents would share grandchildren. Brian would someday run Rick Wade’s territory. When problems arose on the council, Ed Taylor would go to bat for Rick and vice versa.
“School’s good,” Abby said. “Just one semester to go.”
I frowned at the reminder of how quickly time had passed. If she only had one semester to go, then she was, what? Six months from being married?
She wasn’t ready. She still hardly wore the ring.
I made a mental note to talk to Rick about postponing the wedding on Abby’s behalf in light of the fact that she clearly needed more time. And the equally important fact that her fiancé was a gutless asswipe.
Wait, that wasn’t fair. Brian wasn’t a coward. He just wasn’t an Alpha. But my point would stand.
“Well, I have one semester left for mybachelor’s,” Abby qualified, and her father looked up in surprise.
Ed laughed, but he didn’t sound truly amused by the implication that his son’s wedding might be postponed for another two years. “Sounds like she has plans for some more of your money, Rick.”
“It’s notmymoney.” The council chairman smiled at his daughter, practically swollen with pride. “She’s on a full academic scholarship.”
“Three-point-eight GPA,” I added.
Abby glanced at me with both brows raised, obviously surprised that I’d been listening to her chatter on the plane.
“That’s our girl!” Marc called from the hall, and I turned as he strode through the doorway with a giggling, dark-haired toddler tucked under one arm like a sack of feed. “Clearly, spending summers on the ranch has paid off!”
“Are you seriously claiming credit for my academic accomplishments?” Abby demanded, but we could all hear the smile in her voice. She was happy to see everyone, even if the Lazy S was just a layover on an unexpected trip home to South Carolina.
“I claim only what belongs to me.” He swung the toddler upright and the child squealed in delight as his father tossed him into the air, then caught him in both arms. “Go say goodnight to your mom!” Marc ordered with false sternness, setting his son on the ground. After a moment of wobbling on both feet, the child tottered toward Faythe.
He had her beautiful green eyes, but I could tell from the flecks of gold sprinkled through the striations that when he hit puberty and shifted for the first time, his eyes would look just like Marc’s in cat form. It was kind of amazing how the boy could look so much like each of them, yet entirely like himself at the same time.
For one brief, unguarded moment, I wondered what a son of my own might look like. But that would never happen. I wouldn’t be running the Appalachian Pride forever, and Owen and Manx’s non-Alpha-marriage was an anomaly in our world.
Faythe hung up the phone and swiveled in her chair to face her son. She brushed a lock of dark hair from his forehead, then hoisted him up to sit on the desk in front of her, where tiny stuffed animals vied with pens, notepads, and a wireless mouse for the little available real estate.
“No bed!” the boy said, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Abby watching them. Her expression said she wanted to rescue the boy from both his parents and his bedtime. As if maybe she’d done that frequently when she was a guest at the ranch.
“Yes, bed!” Faythe laughed, then held up a pink striped tiger and a purple polka dotted bear for her son’s consideration. “Who gets to sleep with Greg tonight? Felix or Fuzzy Wuzzy?”
“Fuzzy!” little Greg shouted, plucking the bear from his mother’s grip so he could clutch it to his chest.
“He always picks the bear.” Marc elbowed me with a grin. “Elias Keller gave it to him.” Keller was a good friend of Marc’s and the only bruin I’d ever personally met.
Marc pulled me into a hug as if he’d actually missed me, and before I could extricate myself, Logan flew past us with Des on his heels.
“Whoa!” Marc let me go and grabbed the back of Des’s shirt as Rick Wade scooped Logan up on his rebound from a leather couch cushion. “Everyone under the age of…” Marc glanced at Abby. “Twenty-one?”
She nodded, and I frowned. Abby was legal foreverything?
“Everyone under the age of twenty-one, out!” Marc called. “Manx is going to kick off this sleepover with a bedtime story in Greg’s room.”
“No bed!” the toddler shouted when Faythe set him on the floor.
She frowned at him firmly. “Gregory Sanders, if you’re not in your room in two minutes, you can go straight to sleep with no story.” She handed him the bear he’d dropped, then spun him around by both shoulders and gave him a little push toward Marc. Greg toddled off with his arms crossed over his small chest and his tiny lips turned down in a pout.
Abby’s dad put Logan down, and the older boys reluctantly followed little Greg into the hall in the direction of his room.
“We have Logan for the week,” Marc explained. “Angela gets him for Christmas morning but promised to bring him over that night, then he’s all ours again for the New Year.”
“That’s great.” I watched as Ethan’s son disappeared around the corner. “He needs to spend time with his own kind.”
