as the cold season ramps up. The real chill and serious storms begin in February. Even werewolves hunker down then—with coats. Ginny chuckles at Shane who’s trying to rip the scarf off of the snowman, and she asks us, “Is mom inside?”
She means Susan. This summer, when she asked Susan a question, she began her query with, “Mom?”
Susan didn’t make any big deal of it—other than drawing Ginny into a loving hug. And that was that. Susan has been “Mom” to her ever since. But then again, Susan has been a mom to Ginny for a very long time.
Ginny refers to me as Lucan or Deek, and that’s perfectly fine by all parties. Charlotte and Maggie use my given name to refer to me too, as they should. They have a dad. And he’s determined to have his time with them, when he’s got the time. Jillian has to drive all the way up to Pack headquarters to collect his daughters now, and Finn and I like to see the girls off. So does a good portion of the pack, mostly in wolf form. If Jillian is intimidated, we’d never say it was our intention.
But we’d probably admit that it’s a lot of fun.
“Both of your moms are inside, actually,” I tell Ginny, and I don’t miss the careful glance Charlotte sends Ginny’s direction.
“Oh,” Ginny says.
Finn, hands slid into his pockets, rocks on the balls of his feet. “They’s a bunch of them going horseback riding. You three are welcome to tag along with them, I’d think. Course you may want to ask someone with more authority on the matter than me, but if nothing else, you can form your own riding posse or…” He inclines his head, smiling and bracing himself for the response. “We could set up sleigh rides.”
Maggie stops in her tracks, clapping her mittens together and exclaiming, “A sleigh ride?!”
Her squeal has Shane’s head popping up, and he abandons the miniature rose bush he’s bared in favor of running for his adoring sister. He hits the fence with his paws, beginning to whine pitifully in a way that makes all three girls melt and rush to enter the pen.
“That little sod has you ladies wrapped around his paws,” Finn mutters, shaking his head.
I’m moving for the rosebush. “How did he get at this? We were supposed to be watching him.” It has thorns—how did he not start yelping? Didn’t he notice he was getting stabbed a thousand times? Sometimes the boy is almost impervious to physical inconveniences, like getting stabbed by sharp things. I’m not sure yet if it’s a good thing. Lately, he’s been eyeing Susan’s cactus, which lives on the counter. It may need to move up to a shelf. A high, high-up shelf. Thank God we’re not werecats.
“We were watching him. We saw him burrow down through all the snow and dig out all those insulating leaves and straw until he was able to tear the crap out of it. What is it?”
“Susan’s rose. The one that grows all the tiny yellow blooms.” Susan loves them.
“Aw, shite,” Finn says, clomping up beside me. “Can you save it? You ought to watch your son better.”
My tone is laced with a healthy dose of sarcasm. “Thanks. You’re a big help, Finn.”
The door opens behind us, and Susan and Brooke step out. Brooke stops dead when she sees Ginny.
Charlotte sends a stiff smile her way. Ginny doesn’t have any expression at all.
Finn claps me on the back and starts for the gate, moving around Shane who’s playing with his carrot once again, enjoying the fact that it’s now half-frozen. “Thanks a million for the advice, by the way. My flute appreciates it and commends you.”
I make a face, shoving leaves and straw back into the cavity around the little rose plant. “No more talking to me about your flute, Finn, good grief.”
“What’s a flute?” Maggie asks.
“A huge instrument,” Finn replies, reaching out and ruffling her hair. “Huge. And it makes beautiful music, if you know how to play it right.”
“Okay, enough euphemisms with the seven-year-old,” Susan warns.
Finn nods, contrite. “Sound. So about those sleigh rides. Am I getting the draft horses harnessed up, Maggs?”
She holds up Shane, who she loves to carry around when he’ll let her, like now. “Can Shane come?”
I raise a thickly folded blanket, which I’ve been keeping tucked under my arm. When or if Shane Changes, he can be swaddled and kept warm enough until we make it back inside.