In a Badger Way (Honey Badger Chronicles #2) - Shelly Laurenston Page 0,132

at her sister. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

* * *

Wearing loose gray sweats, a blue T-shirt, and no shoes, Shen checked the garage. Kyle was still working and by the looks of him hadn’t had a break since he’d walked away from them the night before, which meant he would be impossible to deal with until he got some sleep.

Shen silently closed the side door and went to his favorite tree; the big one by the garage. Opening his duffel bag, he dumped the bamboo under it. He tossed the duffel bag aside and stuck one of the smaller stalks into his mouth.

Ridiculously happy at the moment, Shen climbed the tree until he found a sturdy limb. He sat on it, relaxing backward and letting his knees bend over the limb so he could comfortably hang there, his arms swinging back and forth, his fingers barely scraping the dirt below.

After a few minutes he started singing one of his favorite songs by Creedence Clearwater Revival, “Lookin’ Out My Backdoor.”

Why? Because he was in such a good mood and it was a great day!

Creedence Clearwater Revival was always for great days.

* * *

Stevie didn’t realize someone was singing until the “doo, doo, doo”—crunch—“lookin’ out my”—crunch—“backdoor” hit her. She put down her coffee and walked to the kitchen window. She bent over the small counter in front of it and opened the window.

Soon, Charlie was forcing her way into the small space so she could also look out the window toward the garage.

Together they watched Shen hang from a low limb, eating bamboo and, between bites, singing.

“I didn’t know he had such a nice voice,” Stevie informed her sister.

“You don’t think it’s weird we have a Chinese panda in our backyard singing a country song even though he was born and raised in Connecticut?”

Stevie shook her head. “No. Then again, you like polka music.”

“It’s danceable,” Charlie snapped.

The back door opened, and once Charlie moved, Stevie leaned back inside to see Max come in naked, half her face swollen three times its size.

“What the fuck, dude?” Charlie asked, spotting Max at the same time.

Max said something, but it was hard to make out when half her mouth was so swollen.

“What?”

Max swallowed and carefully stated, “Cat . . . scratch. Cat . . . spray.”

Charlie’s entire body jerked and her face screwed up in confusion, but before she could ask yet again, “What?” Stevie interpreted for her.

“I think what Max is saying is that the stray cat she keeps fighting with scratched her face and uh . . .” Stevie cleared her throat to keep from laughing. “And then sprayed on it.” She rubbed her nose. “She must be having an allergic reaction of some kind.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Charlie shook her head, her hand briefly over her mouth. “It’s just a suggestion but . . . maybe stop fucking with that cat.”

“She started it,” Max growled out, so angry that her words were relatively clear.

“How can you blame the cat?” Stevie asked, reaching into the freezer to get an ice pack for her sister’s face. “It has no thumbs.”

She turned and dropped the pack. Her sister’s face, in the three seconds it had taken Stevie to get the ice pack, had doubled in size. Again.

“Okay,” she said, trying to remain calm. “I think, at this point, we might be dealing with a combination of an allergic reaction and an infection.”

Charlie, putting the buns into the oven, asked, “Why would you say—dear god in heaven!” She slammed the oven door closed and proceeded to tear through the kitchen drawers, desperately searching each one.

“Wha—” Max managed to ask.

“It’s nothing,” Stevie lied. “But I’m going to, uh, get my EpiPen.”

Max mumbled something and Stevie replied, “I always keep several EpiPens on me. A lot of people I know have allergies, and you know how I like to be prepared,” she finished before racing up the stairs to her bedroom. She grabbed her backpack and held it upside down over her bed. She shook it until everything fell out and dug around the pile until she found two of the pens.

Stevie ran back downstairs and returned to the kitchen as Charlie triumphantly held up a prescription bottle.

“Got it!”

“Wha’s ’at?” Max mumbled, pointing at Charlie.

“Antibiotics,” Stevie explained. “EpiPens,” she said when Max pointed at the items clutched in Stevie’s hand.

“You’re having an allergic reaction,” she went on. “We need to administer this and then get you to a hospital.”

Since the entire right side of Max’s face was now incredibly