Hot Blooded (Wolf Springs Chronicles) - By Nancy Holder Page 0,71

She remembered how Kimi and her mother had begged her to file for emancipation so she could move in with them. Why hadn’t she done it?

Because I was stupid, she thought. And how dare Mordecai bring me here, to a cabin in the middle of the woods, cut off from everything, when he knows about werewolves?

Unless the silver bullets in the garage weren’t his. Maybe someone had hidden them there. Maybe they were part of the estate from his friend who had died a few weeks ago — the one whose Subaru she was driving. Maybe that guy was the one who had set the trap in the woods. How could she know? She couldn’t just ask.

When she got back home she was surprised to find Trick there.

“Hey,” he said as he met her on the porch. “Your pappy told me you’d gone with Beau to visit his grandmother.”

“Yup,” she said, not eager to explain herself. It had been nice to be able to tell her grandfather exactly where she was going, but she hadn’t counted on having to explain to Trick why she cared about Beau’s grandmother.

He raised an eyebrow and looked at her quizzically. She just forced herself to smile at him. His T-shirt was drenched in sweat and he had on a beat-up pair of jeans. Still, he looked good and she could feel tingles at the base of her spine as she stared at him.

“So, what are you doing here?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Getting y’all winterized, since it looks like you guys won’t be staying at our place. Making sure the roof’s in great shape, all the weather stripping is in place on the doors. And, of course, chopping even more wood.”

“Oh,” she said. It would be easier to keep her secret if she was sequestered in the forest. Her grandfather, though, would be at higher risk.

And so would she.

Trick ended up staying for dinner, and afterward they all gathered around her grandfather’s new flat screen to watch a movie. Her grandfather sat in his chair and she and Trick shared the couch and a blanket. She thought she caught Mordecai smirking before turning his attention fully to the screen. As the opening credits rolled, Trick reached out and took her hand and she let him.

The fire crackled cheerily; the movie was dumb but easy to watch. Trick held her hand all through the movie and she marveled at how good it felt, how comfortable. She didn’t have the overwhelming need to kiss him, to be closer; it was somehow warmer, nicer. It made her feel even closer to him. And although she knew that was dangerous, she was enjoying it too much to put an end to it.

When the movie was over her grandfather excused himself to the kitchen and they lingered in front of the door.

“I liked this, Kat,” Trick said.

“Me, too,” she said.

“Thanks for a nice evening.” Trick brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

Her cheek tingled where his fingers had connected and she leaned into him a little, not wanting him to go.

“You know, you still owe me a snow fight. I was winning.”

“You were not,” he said with a smile. He looked deep into her eyes. “I think I was.”

She shivered as he stepped closer. Then, instead of kissing her, as she half expected, he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight.

“I’m always here for you,” he whispered. Then he broke away and let himself out the door.

After Trick left, her grandfather said, “Maybe we should go to the Sokolovs’ when it snows.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she just smiled noncommittally and went up to bed.

Sunday morning after breakfast her grandfather got out the silver that had been recovered from the bog, some silver polish, and a rag, and set to cleaning them. Katelyn drifted over to the table and sat down. “You have an extra rag?” He nodded and handed her one and she picked up a piece of the silver. She could smell it and her skin felt warm where it touched, but she forced herself to ignore it. She thought about Trick and wondered what he was doing. “Last night was nice. Does Trick always help out like that?”

Her grandfather flashed a rare grin. “Yeah. The boy’s good for something.”

“He told me you’re his godfather.”

“That’s true.”

“Do you trust him?” she asked bluntly.

He stopped and gave her a funny look. “He’s a teenage boy. I’d trust him with my life. I wouldn’t trust