In the end, though, none of that mattered to either of his parents. They were intellectuals and raised their children to be as well. Iona turned out perfectly. Brilliant, pretty, and married with three cubs, she was in medical school before she was old enough to legally drink. And only recently turning thirty-five, she was head of her entire department.
Lock, however, was pretty much…average. He didn’t need a lot to make him happy. Fresh salmon, imported honey, and doorways that he could clear without having to duck usually did it for him.
“I think she’s starting to wake up,” the nurse said.
Lock stood and walked over to Gwen’s bed. She was covered from neck to legs by a blanket, but he discovered when he pushed her hair off her forehead that she was cool to the touch.
“No fever.”
“Yeah. That’s what her friend said would happen.” The nurse talked while quickly and expertly cleaning up the operating room. “Her Pride doesn’t get the fever. Weird, huh?”
Things could be weirder.
“Gwen?” he called out softly when he saw her eyelids flutter. “Gwenie?” Her head rolled to one side. “Mr. Mittens?”
Her lip curled up as she snarled and her head rolled back so she could open her eyes and glare at him. “Stop calling me that,” she whispered.
“But you’re as cute as a Mr. Mittens,” he teased. “Like a little house cat.”
“Bastard,” she mumbled, her eyes closing again. Then she was out.
“Is she supposed to drop like that?”
The nurse glanced at her and went back to her work. “It’s normal for her, according to her friend.” And typical that only the nurses listened to the helpful friend while the doctor almost got choked to death because she thought she knew better. “They really need to do more research on hybrids. Less chance of the doctors getting their throats torn out if we knew what we were dealing with.”
“Uh-huh,” Lock muttered, his gaze stuck on Gwen’s face. She was so pale. He was glad he’d decided to stay and—
“Excuse me?”
Lock glanced over at the double doors leading in and out of the recovery room. He scowled. “You must be kidding.”
The polar grinned and motioned to the hallway with a twitch of his head before disappearing outside. Lock looked back at Gwen, brushed stray hairs off her cheek and out of her eyes before he sighed and followed.
Lock knew the polar. Everyone called him “Toots.” He’d been born and raised in Macon River Falls, New Jersey, and like everyone else in his family, he’d stayed on to become one of the Macon River Falls Rangers. Part peace officer, part animal-park ranger.
Stopping in front of him, Lock crossed his arms over his chest. “That big-haired bastard called the cops?”
“You didn’t expect him to take you on himself, did you?”
“Yeah, he might crack a claw.”
Toots laughed. Like most polars, he had a healthy sense of humor and white-brown hair. He was also a good eight inches taller than Lock and quite a bit wider, since the polars had a tendency to stay closer to their bear size in human form than the grizzlies did, which was one of the reasons more polars were found in smaller, out-of-the-way towns like Macon River than in big cities like New York or Boston, where they would receive more attention than they wanted.
“Personally, I’m thinking that hot little She-wolf stepped in to prevent it.”
Hot, huh? “Her feet are as big as yours.”
“The bigger the feet, the bigger the tits.”
Never a big fan of “guy talk,” Lock shook his head and said, “I promised her I’d stay.”
“The She-wolf?”
“No.” He motioned to the recovery room. “The tigon.”
“Wow. Got a tigon in there and a wolfdog out there. Two hybrids in one weekend—that’s gotta be a record for us.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Yeah, ya are. Or I can arrest your dumb ass and you can enjoy some time in our lovely jail.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Part of my job is preventing anything from happening as much as it is to fix things when they do happen. You don’t leave, that cat goes postal, you slap him around, the She-wolf calls her itty-bitty friends and, like the dogs they are, they come running. You’ll slap them around. At that point, I’m back out here because the doc’s called me to get you off the property. Or, you can leave with me now and everybody’s happy and breathing.”
“Everybody’s happy but me.”
“Sacrifices have to be made, and we know that lion ain’t makin’ any if he can help it.” Toots winked at him, motioned to the exit door. “Come on, shorty. Let’s go. You can seethe all the way back to Van Holtz territory.”
“Gee, thanks.”
How did he let this happen? He’d promised Mitch he’d take care of Gwen. One weekend out, and she’d been assaulted by interloping wolves and mooned over by that imbecile bear.
Talk about dropping the ball.
Blayne stormed back into the waiting room. At five-eleven, she was a good three inches taller than Gwen, but both hybrids were still pretty small as human compared to most of the breeds they were mixed with.
“You called the cops?” Blayne accused and Brendon could only stare at her.
“What?”
“You called the cops on the bear! I was standing out front and I saw them driving away in the Ranger’s SUV.”
Not sure what she was talking about, but not in the mood to get into a fight with a woman who would happily have a verbal argument with lint, Bren could only shrug. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It was me,” Ronnie cut in and they both looked at her.
“I’m sorry, darlin’,” Ronnie said simply, “but he needed to go.”
“Why?” Blayne demanded, looking surprisingly angry over a bear she didn’t even know.
“Because he didn’t need to be here.” Ronnie’s voice was calm and very controlled, which Bren knew was not a good thing. Happy and sunny equaled good. Calm and controlled equaled wolfdog without her head.
“I don’t think that was your decision to make,” Blayne practically snarled.
“And I think you should suck my—”
“Why don’t you check on Gwen,” Bren quickly cut in, grabbing Ronnie’s hand and intertwining their fingers before she could finish that particular sentence. “She’ll be waking up soon.”
With a loud and rather dramatic sigh, the wolfdog stormed off, and Bren kissed the back of Ronnie’s knuckles. “Thanks.”
Ronnie’s bubbling anger slipped away and she smiled at Bren. “Gwen will be okay.”
“Yeah, but—”
“And there’s no need to call Mitch about this.”
He winced. “Are you sure?”
“You wanna see that little mixed-breed feline really mad at you, Brendon Shaw? You just call her brother back here over something like this. Take it from a ‘baby sister’ who knows. You leave that boy right where he is and let us take care of Gwenie.”
He nodded and pulled Ronnie over until she sat on his lap. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
She kissed his cheek and put her arms around his shoulders. “I’m glad, too. Did you see the claws on that bear? And he was aiming right for your pretty face, too!”
Gwen opened her eyes and snorted. Figures.
“What?” Blayne asked, staring down at her.
Blayne was staring down at her. Not a handsome bear. But Blayne. She loved Blayne…but Blayne wasn’t the bear. The bear who’d made a promise. Gave his word!
See? She couldn’t rely on anyone but herself, her family, and Blayne. Crazy, never-knew-when-she-would-snap, anger-management-classes-are-her-friend Blayne. Anyone else—not to be trusted.