A Wolf After My Own Heart by MaryJanice Davidson (good books for high schoolers .TXT) 📕

Oz while tightening her sagging towel. It wasn’t her modesty she was worried about so much as the scarring. “Do you want to sit down? You look like you’re about to stroke out.”

“Don’t.” This as she had taken a tentative half-step toward him, mindful of the glass.

“Oz, I can’t just live in the bathrooooooo—whoa!” Faster than thought, he’d navigated the glass and scooped her into his arms, pivoted, and they were back on glassless carpet. It had been so quick and efficiently graceful, it was almost like a dance. “And again: whoa.”

He’d handled her like she weighed no more than a shoebox, then set her back on her feet while she grabbed his shoulder and clutched her towel—thank goodness it was one of the big ones. “Unnecessary,” she managed, annoyed at how breathless she sounded. “But thanks.”

He hadn’t let go of her waist. “Are you sure you’re okay? No cuts?”

“No cuts, just a case of the stupids. I’ll sweep it up once I get wet. Dry! Once I dry off.”

Oz shook his head, adorably assuming he had any say in who performed Curs(ed) household tasks. “I’ll do it.”

“Don’t be a dope.” He still had her by the waist, so she kept clutching his shoulder. Damned if she was going to be the first one to break off. And she was amazed to realize there was no need to worry about him seeing her scars; his gaze hadn’t ever left her face. “I’m almost positive I know where the broom is.”

“You’re doing too much already,” he murmured. Murmured? Yes. He was practically whispering in her ear. His mouth was…very close. Very close to her mouth, to be perfectly mouth. Frank! “Let us help you with some of the load.”

“Load, sure, uh-huh,” she replied, not really listening because—just as an objective fact—Oz’s mouth was kissing close. If this was a love story, there’d be a passionate embrace right about now, his mouth would slant over hers and she’d grab both shoulders and they’d cling to each other and her towel would artfully slip and it would be passionate and terrific.

“Lila, dear, I’ll call Harriss & Son to come fix the bathroom door. You get dry right now and put some clothes on before you catch pneumonia.” Mama Mac, from the other end of the hall. “I can see your butt!”

But this was a sitcom, so none of those things were going to happen.

“My butt is none of your concern, Macropi!”

There was a short silence, followed by laughter drifting up from the kitchen. Lila had to bite her lip, hard, not to add to it. Focusing on Oz’s abashed expression and reddening face helped. “Why is this my life now?” she asked.

“The main theories are that you’re hospitality personified or that you lost a bet with God,” he replied.

“It’s not the former.”

Oz spread his hands and shrugged. “Then I guess God’s a gambling man.”

Well, yeah. Anybody who ever read a history book knew that.

* * *

Oz made his way blindly down the stairs, trying to get his focus back and hoping he wouldn’t trip and brain himself on the bannister. Damp, warm, freshly shampooed Lila was a goddamned menace. Putting her back down and going downstairs was so anathema to what he wanted, his teeth ached.

“If you’re wondering where the broom is,” Annette said when he came back to the kitchen, “I’ve got no idea.”

Oz waved that away—the reason Mama had seen Lila’s delectable butt was because she’d found the broom and was determined to sweep—and said in a low voice, “I’m worried about Lila.”

“Don’t fret, I’m sure she’s covering her butt.”

“Hilarious. But that’s not what I meant.”

“I knew what you meant. And yes, you’re right to worry. Lila may yet cause complications. I believe she cares about Sally—she never smells aggressive or angry around her—but who can predict how she’ll deal with the rest of us, knowing what she knows? As she herself reminds us, we don’t know her terribly well.”

“I feel like I’m getting there, though.” Kind of. A little. Maybe?

“But even if her intentions are benign,” Annette continued, “she could unwittingly jeopardize any one of us.”

“Uh. Sure. All that stuff. Everything you just said, I’m worried about. Mostly. But she had a house fire, too. A bad one. And now she’s taken us in.”

“Us?”

“Shut up. You saw how she wouldn’t go into Mama’s house after the fire was out, right? This house has two fireplaces and they’re both spotless. She hasn’t stocked anything to make fires with, either. And it might be because she’s still unpacking, but I doubt it.”

Annette raised her eyebrows. “And?”

“I’m just worried. I don’t want to churn up bad memories.”

“Too late, I suspect.”

“And I noticed you left out how we could unwittingly endanger her. Whoever set the fire didn’t care if anyone, including Mama, got hurt,” he said. “Now she’s taken us in—”

“Again: us?”

“Again, shut your pie-maw. I’m saying she might have a target on her back now, just like Sally.”

“Fair point,” Annette admitted. “But you’re assuming whoever has done these things wants to hurt Sally. What if the opposite proves true?”

“Jesus.” Oz had a little trouble digesting that one. “Anyone who commits arson to ‘help’ an orphaned cub is not someone I want to hang around with.”

“Nor should Sally,” Mama added, coming back into the kitchen. “Or anyone.”

Annette opened her mouth to add something, then hesitated. That was so out of character, Oz immediately gave her his full attention. “What?”

“It’s a bit off topic. Mama…are you sure letting Caro and Dev make their own den is wise? I’m not talking about how they’re trying to avoid the consequences of teaching a child to circumvent the entirety of IPA’s phone network. But given Caro’s history…”

Given Caro’s history, she had an affinity for small, dark spaces. Given Caro’s history, after being kidnapped and kept in a cage for two years, she tended to think the roughest, most basic necessities—a roof, regular meals, clothing—were vast luxuries often out of her reach.

In short, given Caro’s history, she likely thought