Page 35 of Murder Mittens

“He likes big families but feels he’s incapable of settling down because of the blood on his hands. You’ll be in therapy with him a lot. He’s an old wolf, so you’ll want to keep him away from Harri, because he won’t flinch at her scars. He’ll have a meltdown and swear vengeance over them.”

“Wait. I like that kind of drama. I don’t mind meltdowns when they don’t involve flinching. And it was a fire. Is he good with kittens?”

“He’s one of the top hunters in the country for cases involving kids, so yes. He’s dedicated his life to getting rid of people who target children. I’m trying to convince him to open an orphanage once he’s unable to maintain his hunting. Right now, he’s between jobs, so it’s a good time for you to start working with him if you want him, Henry.” Sebastian got out his phone, tapping at the screen. “And that’ll free me up some time, too. The bounty I’ll be handling is an ugly one, and I need to be on hand as backup for the hunter.”

“That bad?”

“It’s probably worse than you think.”

“If it’s that bad, take Harri with you,” my uncle suggested. “Despite appearances, she’s useful.”

I choked on my own spit, and even Sebastian coughed. While I meant to do just that, I stared at my uncle, wondering what the hell he was thinking—or if he’d uncovered my dirty little bounty hunting secret. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You can, and have, gone up against every one of your brothers and your parents and emerged the victor just about every damned time. All you’d need to hold your own in a real fight is a knife.”

Damn it. I hated to lose, but I hadn’t thought my insistence on giving it my all during the family brawls had been noticed by my uncle, or anyone else for that matter. “I don’t have a knife,” I lied. “I mean, outside of my kitchen knives, and I don’t want to stab people with my kitchen knives, Uncle Henry.”

“That’s easily rectified. You don’t even need a knife. I’d be worried about fighting you if you were armed with even a spoon. But I’ve got a few pocketknives I can give you. That should give you all the weaponry you need. Just piss her off and point her at who you don’t like, Sebastian. She’s got good reason to have a temper, and she’s spent all of her life fighting with her brothers, so she can handle whatever you throw at her. If you want to throw her for a loop, just tell her she’s pretty. She’ll be so stunned you can get the drop on her.”

“You are mean, Henry Wells!” As it was expected of me, I stomped my foot and hissed at him. “Absolutely mean.”

“What part of that wasn’t true, little kitten?”

“I can handle someone trying to tell me I’m pretty. I handle it by laughing at them. But it doesn’t throw me for a loop. It confirms they’re blind and possibly brain damaged. Or they have a scar kink. I mean, that’s always a possibility.”

“Peter? Your daughter needs an attitude adjustment,” my uncle yowled, and to my amazement, he managed to cut over the cacophony of fighting felines. “She’s callin’ herself ugly again.”

“I’m busy right now,” my father replied, and he tossed one of my brothers off the porch into the grass. “Have the boy adjust her attitude while I take care of this lot.”

“It seems her daddy likes you already, else he would have come over here and beat you for not having already adjusted her attitude,” my uncle said, considering the brawl on the porch with interest. “I’d say take your daddy’s convertible, but your new yarn collection won’t fit. Why don’t you put the sewing machine in my car, and we’ll leave the stand in the bed of one of the other trucks. That way, you two can get back on the road. They’re going to be at it for a while.”

“I’m all right with that if you’re all right with it,” Sebastian said.

“That works. Guard the sewing machine with your life, Uncle Henry. If anything happens to it, I will cry rivers. Entire rivers.” While Sebastian retrieved the Singer out of the cab, I considered the nearby truck options, settling on the Ford with the least amount of rust as a temporary holding place for the stand. Once the sewing machine was safe in my uncle’s car and he gave me my new phone along with several pocketknives, I ran for my daddy’s truck, got behind the wheel, and started the engine. I rolled down the window, leaned out, and hollered, “Sebastian? Hurry up. If they catch us, they’ll keep us here until dawn.”

Sebastian headed over as though he didn’t have a care in the world, chatting with my uncle on the way. They shook hands before my uncle returned to his car to guard the precious Singer.

Once in the truck, Sebastian chuckled. “They’re so busy brawling they won’t notice us leaving. Your uncle even walked over the fight to get something from in the house without anyone caring. Relax. Do you want to drive while I look for a good hotel? It’s too far to reach Cincinnati tonight.”

“He went to get my new phone and some pocketknives. The phone is yet another demonstration of guilt on their part. Forget the hotel. I’ll just take you home with me, that way we can drop off the yarn we won’t need for the next week or two. While I have a couch, it’s small. But so is my bed. You will have to pick where you sleep wisely.”

“But how is the soundproofing?”

I grinned. “My house is small, but it’s far enough from the neighbors a few roars won’t bother anybody. They’re used to lynxes. What’s a lion around for a single night?”

“Don’t blame me if there are complaints,” he warned.

“I think I’m going to be really disappointed if there aren’t now,” I muttered.

The lion smirked but said nothing.

Seven

But why would I want you to be quiet?

It wasn’t until I pulled up in front of the house I rented, which may have started its life as an oversized garden shed for all I knew, that I comprehended I’d made a rather serious mistake. The place barely had room enough for me, and while I’d done some tidying, I hadn’t planned for guests. Or possibly trashing the entire structure laying a claim on a lion.

Even sharing my bed with the lion would require a complete lack of personal space and would make for a tight squeeze. My virus loved everything about sharing my bed with him.