swipes another ball of cookie dough off the tray and Susan growls, “I’m going to chase you out of here with a wooden spoon.”
“You’re going to need more than a wooden spoon to beat me away from these cookies,” Finn drawls, taking another.
“Threaten to whack Shane with the spoon,” my dad offers—and while Susan gasps, so does Finn.
My dad laughs and pulls the plug on the sink, dishes washed, rinsed, and set neatly in the drying rack on the counter. He turns to me, his eyes meeting mine briefly. “Why don’t you let me take over here, and you relieve your mate of Shane so she can get ready to go for a relaxing ride? The good Lord knows it might be the only way she’ll get off her feet today.”
“He claims as I’m in the middle of doing nothing but sitting down,” Susan grouses, setting Shane on the floor. He high-steps, ears up, paws clomping, tail lashing back and forth wildly as he gambols towards his grandfather’s sock-clad toes and begins to attack them.
I hand dad the rolling pin, catch the neck strap of my apron, drawing it over my head, and pass it to him.
“See this?” my dad says to Susan and Finn. “Tell a submissive wolf what to do and he does it.”
“It is nice, when you’re the one giving orders,” Finn agrees.
There’s a knock at the door. An uncharacteristically tentative one, which identifies the visitor before we can catch so much as sight or scent of her.
Finn turns and opens the door, not bothering to ask our permission to admit the guest, because we’re Pack. Everybody who knocks is welcome.
It’s Brooke. Ginny’s mom.
“Hi,” she says to him, eyes downcast. She’s essentially a human alpha, but she’s subordinate to him—not because she can’t shift, but because Finn’s fiercely dominant. He’s affable so much of the time a human could be forgiven for mistaking his status, but a werewolf would never make the same mistake. We feel it. “Susan said to stop by…”
“Come on in!” Susan calls, struggling to catch Shane, who found one of his pacifiers on the floor behind a bin of carrots that need to be tossed out to the wood cows.
Brook has been working at the Pack’s butcher shop, works hard, arriving early and staying late, and she’s been doing really well physically. She’s stayed clean, proving to herself and the Pack that she’s got a future.
Where her relationship with Ginny is concerned though, things are… strained. It’s dangerously thin ice. Brooke made choices that caused her daughter to suffer terribly. Worse, Brooke knew what was happening with her boyfriends and Ginny—and Brooke punished her for it. That’s a betrayal no child should have to endure, and if Ginny didn't love her mother, the Pack would have killed Brooke, not rehabbed her.
But although Ginny’s concern saved Brooke’s life, Ginny keeps her further away than even arm’s length. Sometimes she chooses to stay home rather than go to the butcher shop with Susan or me when we pick up our weekly order of cuts.
And since limiting contact with her mom is what Ginny wants, we respect that.
With her permission though, Susan has been inviting Brooke on some social outings. For example, right now. “How do you feel about horseback riding?” Susan asks, only sparing Brooke a quick smile before she’s crouched back in front of Shane, holding his pacifier aloft triumphantly as she stretches for the fridge and pulls out a good carrot (the ones in the bin are slimy and going just a little off. Fine for the woodland critters but not the choicest for us) and offers it to Shane in trade.
He makes an excited woofing noise and carries it around like a bright orange stick.
I guide him to the door so he can play outside. And I’m not going to lie: we love kicking our son outside. Wolf pup poop is a breeze to shovel up, and we rarely have to deal with terrifying diapers of doom. 10/10, I’d recommend shifter pups to anyone.
(Plus? Puppy breath. Shane has it, and it’s delicious.)
Shane happily picks up his carrot, drops it, picks it up again, and repeats this process all the way to the door, his big paws clomping as he goes. I take a moment to step into my boots at the door, grab a blanket off the shelf, and I follow him out.
He makes a garbled wurf of happiness and pounces into a sizable drift of snow.