A Wolf After My Own Heart by MaryJanice Davidson (free romance novels TXT) 📗

obviously, clearly, completely in trouble. “How much trouble are you in?”

“I just haveta find my—” She cut herself off, put down the pizza and blushed, hard. It was remarkable to see; one minute you could see the golden undertones in her complexion, and the next she was doing a flawless impersonation of a beefsteak tomato. “Sorry, I just ’membered, I don’t know your name.”

“Lila Kai.”

“I’m Sally Smalls.”

“Are you really?” Lila asked, delighted. “That’s not a name, that’s a mythical elfin creature from an enchanted forest. Or a cartoon character.”

“I’m not a cartoon. I like forests, though. Your house goes right up against the woods!”

“Tell me about it. Major selling point as far as I was concerned.” A pity the landlord hadn’t mentioned the bear cub situation… Perhaps she’d raise that at the next tenant meeting. The thought made her grin. “Okay, so…your folks? You got separated?”

Sally was crunching her way through her third slice. Hadn’t even waited for Lila to zap it in the microwave. “Uh-huh. Mommy’s been sick, too. So it’s really important I get back to them.”

“That sucks.”

The child nodded. “Uh-huh. Daddy’s taking care of her and all, but she doesn’t like being sick. She’s tired all the time.”

“Okay. So you were separated…”

“Well, they had to take a special trip to Boston, but they’re late coming back.”

“How late?”

“A couple of days,” she replied vaguely. “So I need to be ready for when Daddy comes.”

“Which is why that guy came looking for you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“To take you away? But not in a good way?”

“I need to be ready,” the child said again, and the intensity was strange in such a youngster.

“So what’s the plan?”

“You’re asking me? I’m ten.”

Lila sat back in her chair. “Well, I don’t have a plan. Well, maybe tracking down the guy from last night—except that’d be a dim move, according to every movie in the world.”

The girl laughed at her. “You can’t track him!”

“Could if I wanted,” Lila replied, offended. “Wait, you know who he is? What’s his name? Does he live around here? Do you know why he’s after you?”

“Uh-huh.” She shrugged. “But like I said, you couldn’t track him. Anyways, it doesn’t matter. He’s gonna come here.”

“Of course he is,” Lila sighed. “That’s what my life is now.” And here’s the stupid part: I can’t wait to see him again. Probably because there’s something wrong with me. How d’you know the guy?”

“Caseworker. A dumb one.” The child sighed. “Okay, that’s kinda mean. It’s just, he won’t listen to me! About anything!”

“I noticed the same quality. It’s why he ended up in my basement.”

“Ha! That’s right.” Sally smirked. “When I heard all the swearing I grabbed my chance.”

“Yeah, and next time you suck down all my honey and then dart off into the night, close the front door all the way.”

“Oh. Okay.” Chastened, Sally added, “Anyways, when he comes back, be careful. If you make him mad, his sister will eat you.”

Lila, who had been getting up from her kitchen chair, froze mid-rise. “Please tell me that’s hyperbole.”

“Dunno what that is.”

“It means exaggeration.”

“Then just say exaggeration.”

“Hey!” Lila said sharply. “Did I break into your house and then tell you what words to use?” She didn’t bother ducking; the pizza crust sailed past her left shoulder. “Too wide,” she observed.

“I didn’t break in! I just…came. Into your house. Because of how you were. Last night.”

“Because of how I…” Too late, Lila noticed the child’s big dark eyes looked bigger and darker because they were filling with tears. “Oh, shit. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” Lila hated tears, including her own. It was always awkward and weird and terrible, and she never knew what to do with her hands. Pat the weeper on the shoulder? Hug them? Hand over a box of tissues? Or a sandwich? Or just wave goodbye, hoping they’d leave? Or wave at the weeper while she left?

Worse, she was still stuck mid-rise. Should she sit back down? Or go to the fridge for more milk? Or stay frozen, adding physical discomfort to an already awkward situation?

It was even worse when the weeper denied they were weeping. Then she had to sit there and pretend everything was normal and that the weeper wasn’t leaking like a soft tire. Nine times out of ten, weeping didn’t solve anything; it was almost always a waste of time, energy, and saline.

“I’m not crying!” This in a voice thick with tears and pizza.

Lila sat back down. “Well, thank God for that. If you were crying, it’d be super awkward.” Like now, for instance. Textbook example of why she hated tears. Should she reach across the table and try to hug a strange child? Who might turn into a tiny bear without warning? Should she pour milk? Or heat milk? Or just call Child Protective Services? And offer them milk when they came to get the kid? Actually, she should have called CPS the minute she saw the kid stuck in the basement window. And arguably last night.

But who did you call to report a bear-girl? A cop? A scientist? A Hollywood agent?

And if you weren’t going to call Someone In Authority, then what?

Did the guy with the Caesar haircut count as Someone In Authority? A caseworker, the kid had said. But not a very good one. Perhaps he had. Um. Other qualities. She’d noted what he didn’t have: respect for boundaries or a wedding ring. Maybe those issues were related.

Get the guy out of your head. “I’m sorry I upset you.” Lila got up, went to the fridge, and grabbed a bottle of chocolate milk. She handed it off to Sally, who was blotting her tear-stained face and runny nose on a long red napkin, except there weren’t any red napkins and it was actually Lila’s scarf, fuck. “Argh, that’ll teach me not to hang it up.” Lila pulled it out of Sally’s grasp and hung it on one of the pegs on the wall next to the fridge. “How can I help you? You’re here for a reason.”

“Uh-huh.