Page 25 of Pack Baby for the Silver Foxes

Lincoln

She first refused food, then ate half a sandwich while glaring at it. She had refused water, then finished a bottle after Hudson told her dehydration would make the cramps worse. She had refused the nest, then nearly snarled when I tried to move a pillow that had slid toward the edge of the mattress.

Now she sat cross-legged in the middle of it, hair in wild waves around her flushed face, lips parted. The robe had slipped off one shoulder. Beneath it, the black dress rode high on her thighs.

She looked young and furious. She also looked like ours.

I looked away before that thought could put me on my knees.

Hudson set the tray carefully on the desk instead of the bed. “Drink first.”

“That’s how they get you.”

“Who?”

“Men. Doctors. People with clipboards. Mafia men who want to kidnap you. They get you with one sip of water from a dodgy bottle, and then you’re in the back of a van, eating a banana for your electrolytes, and being shipped to god knows where.”

I shook my head, wondering if she was delirious. “There are no bananas and we’re businessmen not mafia. You watch too many movies.”

Hudson picked up the orange juice, opened it, and poured a small amount into a glass. “One sip, and then Lincoln can stroke your back again.”

Mary’s gaze slid to me. Her scent deepened and the violet pulled tight around my lungs.

“That’s bribery,” she said.

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“I respect your honesty.” She took the glass from him and drank.

Hudson watched to make sure she swallowed. “Good.”

“Don’t sound pleased. It makes me want to be difficult.”

“You have been difficult for two hours.”

“And yet I feel I have untapped potential.” She lowered head to the nest and grinned.

“You really do like being a brat, don’t you?” I quite liked it too, but I wasn’t going to tell her.

“Yes. Give me the coat,” she said.

Hudson stopped with the glass halfway to the tray. “Which coat?”

“The one on the chair.”

“You have my shirt.”

“I need more.” She put out a hand and made a small imperious gesture. “Lincoln’s sweater is doing all the work in here. It will burn out.”

Hudson lifted the coat off the armchair and handed it over without further comment. She pushed it down the side of the nest, patted it twice, and looked enormously pleased with herself.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m not keeping it. It’s just temporary.”

“We know,” Hudson said.