AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Most people don’t realize that.” She shrugged, hoping Chaya wasn’t around to hear this conversation. “Have you seen Bliss?”
She’d promised her sister they’d work on her knife skills.
“She is in her parents’ room speaking with them,” Mercedes said quietly, her expression somber. “I believe Natches is beginning to get a clue that his young daughter is not going to be as easy to protect and guide as he believed she would be. She is certain she needs to participate in drawing these men who wish her harm out into the open.”
Hopefully, she’d listen to her parents, Angel thought.
“She’s as stubborn as Natches is,” Angel said, not really certain what to say to any of them.
“They butt heads often.” Mercedes laughed then, looking to her daughter Zoey. “That I believe is as much a Mackay trait as well as one Chaya possesses.”
Angel nodded uncertainly, looked around the kitchen, and felt about as out of place as she imagined she’d ever felt.
“All the girls are as stubborn as their fathers,” Christa pointed out with a low laugh. “They have the potential of being more stubborn.”
The other women’s soft laughter was an agreement as they continued with what they were doing. They worked well together, too, she noticed. It was a comfortable, familiar rhythm between them that spoke of practice and a knowledge of each other that came from working together often.
“Chaya was bragging about your cooking skills this morning.” Kelly, Rowdy’s wife, smiled back at her from the counter where she was buttering toast and placing it on the stack o
f bread already browned. “Even Bliss can’t boil water. Maybe I won’t worry about them starving to death so much with you around.”
Angel met her brown gaze in surprise.
They thought she was actually going to be able to stay? Weren’t they such an optimistic bunch.
“Bliss needs to learn to cook then.” Angel frowned at the knowledge of how Chaya was spoiling the teenager and just how much Bliss chafed at the lack of responsibility. “I knew how to cook certain things at six. A campfire’s low enough that height wasn’t an issue, and all you have to do is burn your fingers once to learn not to do it again.”
She shrugged as everyone seemed to look at her in surprise. Or was that shock? With this group, who the hell knew for sure? She knew they were grilling her with such friendly warmth that it was impossible to get truly angry.
“Tracker’s mother taught you to cook then?” Mercedes asked, turning back to her as she began loading the dishwasher again.
“Hunger taught me to cook.” She was ready to find an escape route now. She didn’t do interrogations well. “Do you need any help or anything?”
“Yes.” Zoey turned from the other side of the far counter, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. “Here’s your coffee, pull up a stool, and let us get to know you. That’s what we need.”
“Zoey, your manners.” Mercedes sighed as though it were a recurring chastisement.
Zoey winked back at Angel and placed the coffee on the counter in front of a stool with a nod to indicate Angel should sit.
“Mom even remembered how you took your coffee.” Zoey grinned. “Strong, with plenty of sugar and cream.”
“Why?” Angel asked, then immediately regretted it. Dammit, they were making her uncomfortable and that never failed to make her defensive. But she couldn’t figure out why they wanted to get to know her now when they hadn’t given a damn before.
Everyone was staring at her again. Seven pairs of eyes locked on her inquisitively.
“Because it was something we should have done long ago.” Mercedes answered the question gently. “Just as you should have come to one of us, at least, with the truth at a less upsetting time. Family, Angel, they can make mistakes just as others can, my dear. None are perfect.”
The chastisement was there, she heard it, felt it, but it was done so gently and with such logic that Angel couldn’t exactly deny it.
She looked away, her gaze going to the closed shades over the windows then back to the women as they began moving around, finishing breakfast rather than staring at her.
“Come on, Angel, sit with us for a little while. No one’s at fault for the lack of communication, but we all want to get to know you. As you’ve already learned, one person alone can’t accomplish that.” Kelly glanced up at her from the bacon sizzling on the stove. “And as this situation has reminded us, sometimes we don’t always follow our instincts as we should. As we should have when we met you.”
She’d given them a chance, plenty of chances. Hadn’t she?
“I remember when I first met you.” Lyrica turned from the counter behind the stove, a dish towel in hand. “You were there when that van ran me off the road. If you hadn’t been, I’d probably be dead. I wish you had let me thank you for that.”
Angel glared at the floor a second, trying to figure out what to say. What to do.
