The Mane Squeeze

CHAPTER 8

Lock parked his SUV in front of his parents’ New Jersey home and got out. If this had been the weekend, when he spent most of his time in his workshop, he would have been more rushed to get in and get out. But on this lovely October morning, he found he was in no rush. Besides, he enjoyed spending time with his dad. The old man could be quite entertaining in his own wacky way—unless you were some poor guy trying to fix the plumbing and move on to your next job.

Using the same set of keys he’d had since he was nine, Lock entered his parents’ home.

“Dad? You around?” When Lock didn’t get an immediate answer, he closed the door and headed through the sunroom into the living room, through the dining room, and straight in to the kitchen. A big bowl of berries sat on the table and he grabbed a handful. He could hear sounds coming from the basement, so he entered the tiny hallway, which had a doorway to the right that led out into the backyard and to his parents’ two-car garage, and a set of stairs to the left that led to the basement.

Lock barely had his foot on the first step when he heard a, “No, no, no, don’t!” Followed by a “woosh!” and a definitely girlish squeal that he refused to believe came from the old man.

Lock charged down the stairs but stopped when he hit the last step. He simply wasn’t in the mood to get his boots wet.

He watched his favorite childhood stuffed dog float by before looking in the corner to see his father standing there, looking typically guilty and holding a giant wrench. Beside him stood…

Lock blinked, not sure he was seeing correctly.

“You,” he said, too shocked not to show it. Then he did something he rarely ever did—he laughed. Bent-over-at-the-waist laughing. He couldn’t help it. Not a day had gone by when he hadn’t thought about her. Part of him still ashamed he’d left her alone, part of him mad she’d made him care one way or the other. But he never thought he’d see her again. At the very least he never thought he’d see her again in his basement, with his dad, drenched from her knees to her boots from whatever fuck-up Brody MacRyrie had managed to get himself into.

“Lock?” his father asked, most likely shocked at the laughter coming from his only boy. “Are you all right?”

Lock couldn’t answer. He was laughing too hard, which did absolutely nothing but piss off the little feline with the hospital phobia. And even though she clearly didn’t appreciate being laughed at, she decided to take it out on Brody rather than Lock.

Yanking the wrench from Brody’s hand, Gwen shook it at him—although Lock would be eternally grateful she didn’t use it to bash the man’s head in.

“What did I say? I said don’t touch!”

“I was just curious.” And that only made Lock laugh harder. He’d lost count of how many bad days with his parents began with the sentence, “But I was curious!” It was true, almost all bears were curious by nature, even Lock, but Brody took it to an extreme that made those who knew him love him and want to punch him all at the same time. “I merely wanted to see—”

“Out!” the little feline roared, the sound a bit more frightening as it seemed to combine the roar of a territorial lion with the warning growl of a pissed-off tiger.

“But why? I didn’t do—”

“Dad.” Lock stood up, wiping tears from his eyes. For a moment he thought that wrench would come right at his head. “Upstairs.”

“I’m your father, boy. You can’t tell me—”

“Up. Stairs. Or I’m calling Mom.”

“Traitor,” Brody mumbled, but he mumbled while moving, so Lock didn’t bother arguing with him. “And you’re both being unreasonable.”

Lock waited until his father marched up the stairs and back into the kitchen, then he focused on Gwen.

“You’re the plumber?”

Those gold eyes narrowed dangerously. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m having a hard time believing you can fix my parents’ plumbing.”

“Why? Because I’m a woman?”

“No. Because you’re you.”

The wrench slapped into her left palm with a “swack!” “First my brother and now you. What a perfect fucking day.”

He sloshed over to her, grateful he’d worn his work boots rather than his sneakers. “I don’t know your brother. Just the half-brother of your half-brother, which I still find entertaining.” He took hold of her left hand and lifted it. “But these are not the nails of a plumber.”

“What’s wrong with my nails?” She snatched her hand back and studied them. “The polish isn’t even chipped.”

“Exactly! What kind of plumber has pristine nails?”

“A smart one.”

Lock took her hand again, studied her nails. “Are these the colors of the Philadelphia Eagles?”

Once more she snatched her hand back. “I support my teams. You got a problem with that, too?”

“If they’re the Eagles.”

“At least we have a team,” she shot back. “And just because I have style and my nails look good, doesn’t mean I’m not the best plumber you’ll ever know.”

“Is that right? Are you even licensed in Jersey, Mr. Mittens?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“How did you manage that? You have to live in Jersey to get a license.”

“What are you? The plumber police?”

“Only for the Tri-State area. And how come you won’t answer my question?”

“Because I don’t have to! And—” she threw the wrench to the floor, water spraying the front of his jeans “—you left me!”

And there it was. He couldn’t describe how satisfying it was to know that she had cared he’d left that day and that she still thought about him. He’d hate to think he was obsessing all on his own. “I had to leave. They called the Park Rangers.”

“Who did?”

“I’m guessing the half-brother of your half-brother—and can I call him that for eternity?”

“No. His name’s Brendon. And you let some cop force you to leave me when you promised you wouldn’t allow the organ thieves to get me?”

“The organ thieves didn’t get you, and yes, I just said that out loud. And it wasn’t some cop or some ranger…it was Toots.”

“Who the hell is Toots?”

Embarrassed, Lock didn’t answer her right away, and Gwen put her hands on her hips. “Well?”

“He’s a polar. Okay? Seven-seven, almost four hundred pounds, and he beat me up once.”

“He beat you up?”

“We were only fifteen at the time, but it was lasting damage.”

“Physical?”

Lock cleared his throat. “Emotional.”

“Emotional damage?”

“It can be just as devastating, Mr. Mittens!”

“Yeah. I can see it. You look completely devastated.”

“At least I can admit to my fears, She Who Is Stalked by the Organ Thieves of America.”

“That’s it, I’m leaving.”

Lock started laughing again. “Why? Because I’m rudely suggesting you have issues?”

“I don’t have issues.” She bent down and picked up her wrench. “I’m fine.”

“You snuck out the window when no one was looking so you could get away from your doctor.”

“I’m not talking about this.”

He grabbed the wrench from her. “You brought it up.”

“I brought up the fact you left me in that mortuary to die.”

“You call a medical center a mortuary and you don’t think you have issues?”

Snarling, she reached for the wrench, but he kept it from her by lifting it over his head. “You have to fix whatever damage my father’s done before my mother gets home.”

“Find someone else.”

“Please. I promise I’ll keep him upstairs and out of your hair.”

“Another promise? You sure do toss them around.”

“This one I can keep as long as the half-brother of your half-brother doesn’t show up and ruin everything.”

“Stop calling him that.”

“No need to hiss, Mr. Mittens.”

“And stop calling me that!” She leaped up and snatched the wrench from him. “Get out of my sight!” she ordered after she’d landed.

Unable to keep his smile under control, Lock pointed at the stairs. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

“Yeah. Sure you will.”

Lock went back up the stairs and found his father in the kitchen—sulking.

“How about some coffee, Dad?”

“I don’t see why I can’t observe.”

“Dad,” Lock asked sincerely, “do you even know the meaning of that word?”

His father shrugged. “Sometimes.”

After a solid fifteen minutes of uninterrupted time, Gwen discovered three things. One, the MacRyrie family needed a new water heater. Two, she’d need to get the pump out of her truck to deal with the water on the floor that wasn’t going anywhere in that concrete basement. And three…that deserting idiot was even cuter than she remembered.

Marching back up the stairs, leaving a trail of water behind her, Gwen walked into the kitchen and stopped. Father and son sat at the table, their elbows on the wood, their hands gripping extremely large coffee mugs, the same expression on their faces. So much father and son, Gwen felt this weird tug at her heart.

“Well?” the grizzly son asked.

“Do you need some help, dear?” the grizzly dad eagerly offered.

“No, Dad.”

“But—”

“No.”

And all that anger she’d been carrying around since her argument with Mitch that morning washed away. They were just so damn cute, she couldn’t stay mad at either one of them.

Biting back her smile, Gwen said, “You need a new water heater.”

“That sounds expensive,” the older bear said, his brow furrowing. “Your mother isn’t going to like it if it’s expensive, Lock.”

“Mom has no choice.” He shrugged at Gwen. “I’ve been trying to get them to get a new one for years. I did what I could.”

“It lasted longer than it should have, so you did really well. But it’s time to put her out of her misery and to get you folks up to the here and now.”

“Of course, of course.” Brody MacRyrie put his coffee mug down. “I understand.”

Eeesh. Twenty minutes ago, she was ready to charge this guy out the ass simply for being a pain. Now she didn’t have the heart. “Don’t worry, Mr. MacRyrie. I got ya covered.” She winked at him and the older bear’s face turned red.

“Well…uh…um…would you like some coffee, my dear?”

Gwen grinned. “I’d love some.”

By the time they were finished installing the new water heater, hauling out the old one—helped along by Lock being able to simply pick it up and carry it out—and ensuring the basement was dry, it was late. Nearly seven o’clock.

Gwen sat on the curb behind the MacRyrie family home. She watched the company truck driven by one of her employees head off down the street while she checked in with Blayne.

“How did your job go?” Blayne asked after complaining for nearly ten minutes about her own.

“New waterless water heater installed and working fine.”

“Water heater installation. Ka-ching!”

“You’re not going to believe whose house this is, though.”

“Whose?”

She smiled, thinking of Lock keeping his father busy and out of her hair anytime the man even glanced toward the basement. “The bear’s.”

“What bear?”

“The one from the infamous Labor Day weekend fiasco. The one who left me at the whim of organ thieves.”

“Stop saying that! I told you what happened.”

“Yeah. Whatever. He apologized, anyway.”

“You made that man apologize?”

“Yes! As a matter of fact, I did.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I was owed an apology.”

“I’m not arguing with you on this. I’ve gotta go.”

Gwen’s eyes narrowed. “Oh? Where to?”

“To…uh…”

Gwen’s eyes narrowed more until they were nothing but slits. The wolfdog was up to something, had been for weeks, and Gwen was determined to find out what. “To…” she prompted.

“To the hospital.”

Gwen’s back went straight. “What the—”

“As a volunteer.”

“A volunteer?”

“Uh-huh.”

Blayne was lying and they both knew it. “That’s where you’ve been going after work the last few weeks?”

“Uh…huh.”

“To a hospital?”

“Yuppers!”

“As what? A therapy dog?”

Blayne’s gasp of outrage came through the phone. “Low blow, O’Neill!” Yeah. It was. But she hated when Blayne lied to her. Still, that was too low, even for Gwen.

“Blayne, wait. I’m sor—”

Not surprisingly, the phone call abruptly ended, leaving Gwen to stare at the “disconnected” message on her screen until she heard something breathing beside her.

“You’re supposed to lumber,” she accused softly, looking over at the grizzly quietly sitting next to her. Poor full-humans. Without the same hearing as Gwen, they’d never know the bear was next to them until he said something or until the mauling started. She shuddered at the thought. “Because I can hear lumbering.”

“I do lumber. Since I was eight.”

“You need to lumber louder. No one wants to look up and see a bear sitting next to them. Breathing.”

“Gee, thanks.” He jerked his thumb toward his house. “My mother’s home. She wants to talk to you.”

“You’re not going to get a better deal from anyone else,” Gwen tossed out.

“Would you stop doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Arguing a point before anyone’s given you a reason to. Don’t preemptive argue. It’s annoying.” He stood up and so did Gwen. “The reason I’m talking to you now is that I need to warn you about my mother.”

Gwen put her hands on her hips. “Let me guess. She doesn’t like cats. She’s going to say snide remarks about climbing trees and hacking up hairballs, and you’re going to apologize now for whatever she says. Right?”

“You’re doing it again,” he accused.

Shit. She was.

“If you’d let me talk for myself, I was going to say that my mother is a dyed-in-the-wool feminist and she’s dying to meet you because she’s completely in love with the idea of a female plumber putting in her new water heater. She also may ask to interview you for her monthly newsletter, but you’re not obliged to do that unless you want to.”

Gwen could say with all honesty she hadn’t been expecting any of that. “Oh. All right then.”

He leaned down until their noses almost touched. “Did you know that you’re very frustrating?”

“Maybe, once or twice, I’ve heard that before.”

His mother was in love. Lock knew it as soon as she set eyes on Gwen that she’d fallen head over heels in love.

First off, Gwen was dressed “correctly.” Sturdy work boots, no cute shoes. Curly hair held off her face with a headband, no cute hairstyle more concerned with glamour rather than functionality. Cargo pants with lots of pockets for easy access to often-used small tools or pen and paper, no cute jeans with a thong hanging out. Long-sleeved Philadelphia Eagles sweatshirt that had seen better days but still did the job, no “I’m your sexy plumber” cute T-shirt in pink.

But what made it perfection for Dr. Alla Baranova-MacRyrie was that Gwen had those nails, because in his mother’s mind that meant she embraced her femininity even while rejecting society’s standards for women. Give Lock a couple of hours, he could write the paper that his mother would present at the next female empowerment rally she would be hosting in the New Year.

“So you’ve been doing this for years,” Alla said to Gwen, ignoring the burning smell coming from the stove.

“Mom, when was the last time you checked the meat in the oven?”

“Mmm?”

“You’re supposed to be warming this up, ya know? Not grilling it all over again.” Lock motioned her aside so he could pull the oven door open.

“I used to follow my Uncle Cally around when he’d come over to fix Ma’s plumbing and by the time I was thirteen, I had a regular summer job with his company.”

“Now this Uncle Cally, is he an actual uncle or simply one of the many males your mother had around for breeding purposes while you were growing up?”

Lock bolted up so fast, his head slammed into the stove. “Mom!”

Perplexed, his mother studied him while he rubbed the back of his head. “Whatever is the matter with you?”

“Me? You can’t ask Gwen a question like that.”

Alla sighed in exasperation. His mother had often told Lock that he was much too polite to ever be a true intellectual. “But this is a Pride we’re discussing, Lachlan. They don’t keep males around except for protection and breeding purposes.”

“Mom!”

“Any Breeding Males we had around the house,” Gwen calmly cut in, “were never called uncle. Ma always thought that was creepy.”

“I have to agree with her,” Alla muttered, again ignoring the glare from her son.

“My Uncle Cally is one of Ma’s brothers.”

“Half-brother?” Lock asked.

Gwen scowled but he knew it was to keep from laughing. “Shut up.”

Brody walked into the kitchen, happily clapping his hands together. “Dinner ready?”

“Mom burned the meat. Again.”

Alla glared at her husband rather than her son. “If you wanted a housesow, you should have married one!”

“I didn’t say anything!” Brody argued, pointing a damning finger at Lock. “It was the boy!”

“But you were thinking it,” she accused. “Now, I’m going to take Gwen into the living room and you two can work out dinner.” She smiled at Gwen. “You’ll stay for dinner, of course.”

“Okay,” Gwen said easily, surprising Lock.

Alla walked to the refrigerator and Gwen stepped out of her way. The kitchen had always been too small for a family of four bears, but Lock wondered if Gwen was feeling a little overwhelmed. She was only about five-eight. His mother was six-four and had the sturdy hips and shoulders of a true breeding sow. Lock could never think of a time as a child when his mother didn’t make him feel safe. Because who’d be crazed enough to try and get near him when his mother was around?

“I have iced tea, dear. Or beer?”

“Maybe a saucer of milk?”

Gwen and Alla looked over at Lock and he immediately pointed at his father. “It was him,” he lied.

His father, oblivious as always, held up a menu from the stack they kept on hand in one of the cupboards. “How about Chinese food? They deliver and have those wonderful family-style meals to feed four. So I’ll order eight of those.”

Gwen was kind of amazed. A mother with several degrees and a prestigious position at an Ivy League college did not ensure that she’d be any less embarrassing to her child than a mother who became a nurse through night school. Gwen knew this when Alla launched into her “unfortunate changes in my vagina after the birth of Lachlan” discussion.

Lock had to put his big glass of milk down for that one, his head buried in his hands. The parts of his face not covered by his long fingers turned a lovely shade of crimson. Gwen had nail polish that matched that color perfectly.

“Was it his giant kumquat head?” Gwen asked, thoroughly enjoying every second of Lock’s misery.

“No. It was his shoulders. He’s always had very large shoulders. I mean look at him. Even as a baby they were freakishly long.”

“Freakishly?” Lock snapped.

“They stretched me right out.”

“Mom!”

Brody shrugged and reached for more moo goo gai pork. “I didn’t mind.”

“Dad!”

“Well, darling, you were always quite large, so it made things a little easier for both of us when it came to sex.”

“Mom!”

Alla shook her head. “I don’t know what happened to you, Lachlan MacRyrie.” She turned to Gwen. “I’ve always insisted on being quite open about human bodies when talking to my children. There’s no shame in a woman’s body. And like everything else in the world, it ages. So while you still have the exquisite body you’ve been blessed with, Gwen dear, and that prebirth vagina—enjoy it.”

“Is there any way to get you to stop?” Lock begged.

“Eat your food and stop whining, Lachlan. It’s not attractive.”

Brody’s head lifted and he leaned back in his chair, staring off through the living room and into the front room. Their house was like one long building, everything linear. It fit them so well.

After a few moments the front door opened and Brody grinned. “Well, look who’s here.”

Three young children ran in, screaming. Brody stood and held his arms open, allowing the children to crash into him. He didn’t budge an inch.

“Mom?” She walked into the room and Gwen immediately saw the resemblance between brother and sister. She doubted Lock and his sister had many “You two are related?” moments like Gwen and Mitch did.

“Hello, dear. What are you doing here so late?”

“I came to pick up the…” Her words faded away when she saw Gwen sitting at the table. Her nostrils twitched and flared and her eyes immediately went to her children, her body tensing.

“Stop it, Iona,” Alla warned while she put more honey chicken with cashews on her plate. The woman had an appetite like Mitch and Brendon put together.

“Iona, this is Gwen O’Neill,” Lock said. “Gwen, this is my sister Iona MacRyrie-Phillips.” There certainly was a lot of hyphenating in this family.

“Hi.”

Her gaze examined Gwen carefully before she finally replied, “Hello.”

“She’s our plumber,” Brody said with an interesting amount of cheer. He returned to his chair and sat, pulling one of the children, a girl, onto his lap.

“Inviting plumbers to dinner now?” the sow asked.

Relaxing back in her chair, Gwen replied, “I’m so good at what I do, I always get a meal afterward. And sometimes, flowers.”

Lock choked on his milk while Brody agreed, “She did an excellent job, dear. We have a new water heater now. A waterless water heater. I plan to examine it tomorrow.”

“No!” his entire family said, making him jump.

Even the granddaughter on his lap looked up into his face and said with the solemn wisdom of a four-year-old, “Don’t, Grandpa.”

“This is a really nice table,” Gwen said after Iona and Alla went into the kitchen to retrieve old family flatware for one of Iona’s exclusive doctor-only parties. And yeah, Lock specifically did not mention to Gwen that his sister was one of those evil “organ thieves.” Not with the evening going so well and all.

Gwen tapped the table. “Where did you get it?” She leaned down to examine the underside. “Was it expensive?”

Lock glanced at his father who quickly shrugged and muttered, “I didn’t say anything.”

“Didn’t say anything about what?” Gwen asked.

“Why are you asking about the table?” Lock demanded, wondering what she was up to.

“Because it’s nice and one day I’ll need furniture.”

Brody sat up. “Well, then—”

“Dad.”

Gwen glanced back and forth between them. “What?”

“Nothing,” Lock said. “The table was made for my parents,” which wasn’t a lie.

“Oh.” She pouted a little. “This would probably be out of my price range then.”

Brody threw his napkin down. “Yes, but—”

“Dad,” Lock cut in again, scowling in warning at his father.

Gwen watched them closely. “What is wrong with you two?”

The MacRyrie men gave identical shrugs and answered together, “Nothing.”

Gwen said good-bye to the MacRyries, giving them her personal cell phone number in case they had any problems with their new heater. As she walked back to her truck, Lock walked beside her.

“I’m sorry we kept you out so late,” he said.

“No problem. I had a really good time.”

“Sure you don’t want me to follow you back to the city?”

She laughed. “Yeah. Right. I don’t know how I survived this long without you shadowing me.”

Gwen unlocked her truck door and pulled it open.

“So, Gwen…you want to go out sometime?”

And there it was.

She faced him, the open truck cab to her back. He had his hands in his pockets and his eyes focused on the bushes behind her head. He was shy and adorable and wouldn’t last ten seconds with her or her family. Sure, in a physical fight and if they snuck up on him, startling him into a violent reaction, he could take Gwen’s uncles and Mitch. But in the verbal duels that represented O’Neill get-togethers? Not two seconds. He got weird when she asked questions about his parents’ dining table and couldn’t even look her in the eye when he asked her out.

“Thanks, Lock, but no.” See? Much better to let him down now, then crush him later when he got attached to the unattachable. “It’s nothing personal, though,” she added.

He laughed, now looking her in the eyes. “Yeah, being turned down for a date is always not personal.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Not really.” But he was smiling and there didn’t seem to be any bitterness or anger. She appreciated that and, to her way of thinking, it said a lot about him as a man.

“I had a great time tonight. Let’s leave it at that, okay?”

“Okay.”

Hmm. Maybe he was taking it too well. Couldn’t he even put up a little fight for her? Jeez. She was glad she hadn’t wasted her time.

She got into her truck, and Lock closed the door for her. He leaned into the open window, looking around at everything, as curious as his father, if not as grabby about it.

Gwen started the truck and put on her seat belt.

“You’ve got the check, right?”

“Yup. Thanks.” She adored prompt payers.

“Okay. See ya.”

“Yeah.” She turned her head to say good-bye and then his mouth was there, on hers.

It was…strange. His lips…they…uh…she didn’t know. But as strange as his lips felt on hers, they also felt wonderful. Amazing wonderful. And instead of pulling back, horrified by the awkward moment or freaked out by his strange lips, she ended up kissing him back. She leaned into that kiss, her mouth opening under his, tongue pressing inside until she felt inundated with the taste of Chinese honey chicken.

She released the steering wheel, her hands reaching out for him, and that’s when he stepped back. His eyes were closed and his tongue swiped his lips, as if he were still savoring the taste of her.

When he looked at her again, he said, “Night.”

And walked off!

Gwen watched him, moving from a slow burn to a nice, frothy rage as he left her sitting there in her running truck.

Again! He’d left her again! This time was worse than the last, too, because she was awake and fully aware he was leaving her!

You turned him down for the date, her rational cat side reminded her. And her human side told her cat side to shut the fuck up!

“Bears,” she growled. “Tricky, eating-out-of-trashcan Jersey bears! I hate all of them!”

She slammed the truck into reverse and tore out of the MacRyries’ driveway, promising herself never to return no matter how much she liked his parents or what a great kisser Lock MacRyrie was.

Never. Again!

Lock walked up to his parents’ house, the sweet taste of Gwen still on his lips.

It had been a long time since he’d felt like this about a woman. A long time since something had caught his interest other than food or survival. And he liked it. He liked feeling something other than hunger or dread, panic or calm, anger or absolutely nothing. For the first time in years he felt warm from the inside out and he loved it. Wanted more of it.

He wanted more of Gwen O’Neill.

She wouldn’t be easy to get, though. Like a cat staring at him from a hundred-foot tree, Gwen kept herself safe from outsiders, only the chosen allowed in to her world.

But Lock was nothing if not persistent. He had pulled ancient trees out by the roots to get to a beehive, and battled full-blood grizzlies to get the best spot in a salmon-filled Alaskan river. So if Gwen thought she could motion him out of her life with a wave of her hand and an “It’s not you, it’s me,” she was dead wrong.

“Nicely handled, son,” his father praised as Lock stepped into the house, the old man patting him on the shoulder as he passed.

Lock smiled in return, feeling surprisingly pleased with himself. “Thanks, Dad.”

Niles, exhausted to his bones, rubbed his forehead and glared across the boardroom table. They’d all been arguing for the last three hours and he’d just hit his wall.

As he slammed his hand on the table, every predator eye locked on him. It was a disturbing sight, but one he’d gotten used to over the years since he’d joined the Board. “We can’t keep having this same argument. Nor can we ignore how things are changing.”

The ancient matriarch of the Llewellyn Pride, Matilda, tapped her claws against the table. She was so old, she couldn’t retract them anymore. “What are you suggesting, Van Holtz?”

“You know what I’m suggesting, and I’m tired of talking. Do we do this…or not?”

“Do we have much of a choice?”

“Not anymore.”

The representatives of every major Pack, Pride, and Clan, as well as reps for nonsocial breeds, glanced at each other. After a much-too-long stretch of time, each nodded, silently giving their agreement.

Matilda was the last. She nodded, white-gold mane briefly covering her face.

“Good,” Niles said, signaling to his assistant. “Then we’re done.”

They rose to leave, one of Matilda’s nieces helping the old lioness out of the chair. But before she left, and after everyone else had, she focused still-sharp gold eyes on Niles. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Matilda, you just agreed—”

She waved one white claw. “I’m not talking about the decision that was made here, young Niles. I’m talking about your new hire.”

Oh. That. Well, he’d known there would be some uncomfortable with his choice, but that was too damn bad. “I was empowered by the Board to make those decisions. Without getting prior approval by you…or anyone.”

“You were. But be careful, poodle.” She made her slow way toward the door, her niece gripping her elbow. “That one’s predecessor…that didn’t end too well, now did it?”

“Perhaps,” Niles murmured, hiding his smile. Because as Niles’s father used to tell the story, it actually only ended badly for the Llewellyn Breeding Male who’d gotten in that one’s way.

“She’s going to be difficult,” his assistant reminded him once Matilda was gone.

“True. But there’s something to keep in mind…” Niles picked up his papers and shoved them into his briefcase “…the old bitch can’t live forever.”

His assistant looked at him with what Niles could only interpret as amusement mixed with pity. “Perhaps not, sir. But she’s clearly going to make her best effort.”