Ricky knocked on the bulletproof glass of the thick security door and grinned down at the pup staring at him. “Hello, darlin’. Is Bobby Ray home?”
The pup stared at him a moment longer before turning and screeching, “Mooooooom! Wolf at the door!”
The pup’s mother didn’t show up at the door but the Alpha of the Kuznetsov Pack did. A wide smile on her face, Jessie Ann Ward unlocked and opened the door. “Hey, Ricky Lee.”
“Hey, Jessie Ann. Your mate home?”
“Upstairs in his lair. I think he’s avoiding the kids. They’ve been in overdrive all day now that school’s out. Is everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah. Just avoiding my sister and Sissy Mae.”
That made Jessie laugh. “Something I understand completely. Don’t worry. If they call or stop by . . . I haven’t seen you.”
“Thanks, darlin’.” He stepped inside and headed down the hall. “I see you’ve finally rented that place across the street.”
“Mhmm,” Jessie Ann grunted.
“Somethin’ wrong?” He leaned in and whispered, “You want me to go over there and give ’em a Smith welcome?”
Jessie laughed. “Don’t you dare, Ricky Lee Reed. They’re paying a fortune. I mean a fortune, just to stay there for the summer. But I think they have motives.”
“Something illegal?”
“No. Nothing that interesting.”
“Then it must involve Johnny.” The young wolf, Johnny DeSerio, was Jessie’s adopted son. An eighteen-year-old kid with a gift for the fiddle. Could play a mean “Devil Went Down to Georgia” while Jessie Ann sang. But a strong, street-smart boy, so Ricky didn’t know why Jessie Ann worried about him so.
“It does, but I don’t want to discuss it.” She glanced into the living room and giggling pups ducked behind the couch. “Too many big ears around here.”
“Not a problem.”
He kissed her cheek and headed up the stairs to the third floor, where the Pack had given Bobby Ray his own office, and there were bedrooms for visiting wolves.
The door to Bobby Ray’s office wasn’t closed, and Ricky walked in to find the strong, powerful Alpha Male of his Pack tickling the ribs of his baby daughter and blowing raspberries on her belly while the little darling just laughed and laughed.
“Well, hello, Daddy!” Ricky cheered from the door.
Bobby Ray froze in mid-raspberry, but Ricky Lee was dang impressed when Bobby Ray’s baby girl angrily barked at him for the interruption.
“Now is that any way to talk to your godfather, brat?” Of course, she might not remember he was her godfather—the girl had six of them. Smith males believing their all-important daughters could never have enough protection.
Bobby Ray stood, lifting his daughter with him. “Where’s her momma?”
“Downstairs.”
With that, Bobby Ray tossed the child to Ricky Lee, who easily caught her. Not surprisingly, Jessie hated when they did that, but the tomboyish little girl adored it. Laughing, she clung to Ricky’s neck.
“How’s my favorite girl? How’s my little vampire?”
“Stop calling her that.”
“Hey. It wasn’t my idea to name her after Dracula’s first wife.”
Bobby dropped into his chair. “It’s the price I pay for love . . . I married a geek. And,” he added, annoyed, “these dogs may run around calling her Elisabeta all day long, but to me she’s just my Lissy Ann.”
“I wouldn’t worry.” Ricky sat at the desk across from Bobby. “She’s a hearty little gal. Look at these little legs. Sturdy. She’ll be out huntin’ and campin’ with the rest of us before you know it. Won’t need any fancy tents or generators with her.”
Bobby shuddered a little, most likely remembering that joint Pack camping trip they’d taken with the wild dogs in Alaska. It had not gone well. No. Not well at all.
Putting his big feet up on his desk, Bobby studied Ricky a moment before stating, “So . . . guess you heard about Laura Jane.”
Miki sat on the couch, but unlike Irene and Freddy, she sort of flopped on it, her bare feet landing dangerously close to Irene’s thigh. How these two had become friends, Toni didn’t know, because although equally brilliant and both full-humans mated to wolves, they were still quite different as women.
“So what brings you here?” Miki asked, unaware of the way Irene moved away from her extremely tiny feet. Irene was not a big fan of feet . . . or of being touched by anyone but her children and Uncle Van.
“Freddy wanted to see you before you two left tomorrow.”
Irene’s head tilted to the side, her brain working. She said, “I thought you guys were leaving tonight, too.”
Toni kept her face blank and, after a moment, Irene sighed. “Don’t tell me that woman has decided to stay here.”
“That woman is your best friend and of course she decided to stay here. How hard can it be to move your entire family of thirteen to Manhattan at the very last minute?”
“When you have money? Not hard at all. But why?”
“Because of Johnny DeSerio.”
“Is he a mobster?”
Toni sighed. “Aunt Irene, we’ve had this discussion. Not everyone who is Italian is a mobster—”
“I know.”
“—or on a Jersey-based reality TV show.”
“That I’m still not sure about.”
“And he’s that young violinist she met at one of her master classes last summer.”
“Oh, yes. I remember. She’s been going on about him for months now. Did she finally snag him?”
“Before I decide whether to be morally superior,” Miki cut in, “what are we talking about your mother wanting to do with this person? Have sex with him or just—”
“No.” Nope. Miki was not like Irene at all. “She wants him as a student. Kind of like you and Irene. A mentor-mentee kind of thing.”
“Except Irene was my thesis adviser when I was going for my PhD. Are you talking about that?”
“No. But as an artist—”
“Please. No. No ‘as an artist’ discussions. I’ve had them for two days now with your family. I’m done.”
Toni had to laugh. Over the years, she’d learned to tune the “as an artist” discussions out. But those not used to it . . .
“How hard can it be to entice this boy into your mother’s tutelage?” Irene demanded. “She’s Jacqueline Jean-Louis, not some desperate wannabe who still dreams of having a music career.”
“I love how you manage to sound arrogant for other people. And I don’t think the problem is the kid. It’s his mother. She’s one of the Kuznetsov wild dog Pack and extremely protective of him. Word is she decked some teacher that tore into him after a competition. Her mate had to drag her off the guy. So Mom’s proceeding with caution.”
“Actually . . . that sounds like a solid plan.”
“Yeah. I thought so.”
Holding his goddaughter on his lap, Ricky asked, “Perhaps you can explain to me this obsession women have with talking things out? I mean, what is there to talk about?”
“You know how your sister is. She assumes you’re still broken up over being dumped by Laura Jane.”
“I was eighteen. She was nineteen. And kind of a,” he covered his goddaughter’s ears with his hands, “whore.”
“Now, now. That’s my cousin, Ricky Lee.” When Ricky just stared at him, Bobby shrugged. “Who is kind of a whore.”
Ricky dropped his hands. “She was seeing at least two other guys when she was going out with me. At the time, it broke my heart . . . but also at the time, when my momma didn’t make blueberry pancakes on Sunday mornings like she promised, that kind of broke my heart, too.”