Page 5 of A Wolf for Winter

“N—” Allen cut himself off when he realized she wasn’t asking after Lilac. He glanced out the window again then shot to his feet, pocketing the picture on his way to the front door. When he wrenched it open, the ancient woman on the other side had her knobby fist raised mid-knock.

She gave him an assessing look. “Boy,” she said in a flat tone. “Still here, I see.”

“Crow,” he replied in the same dry, flat tone. “Still coming here to scavenge food, I see.”

They stared at each other for a beat, neither moving, before Mrs. Hollyoak threw her head back with that one-note caw of a laugh that had earned her the nickname. Allen grinned.

Then the tiny caretaker of Hawthorne Hall took his offered arm (he had to stoop a little) and shuffled into the townhouse with a few heavy thumps of her cane. “Help me out of all this fluff, would you, boy?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The petite woman lifted her chin so he could untie the headscarf keeping the snow from her hair, then she turned a slow circle as he peeled away her cranberry-colored coat one sleeve at a time. Their movements were fluid and practiced, a type of dance they had perfected over the course of the week. Mrs. Zofia Hollyoak always came to the Roots’ townhouse for lunch, no matter the weather, and she always packed a tin of something sweet in her velvet handbag.

And, without fail, she insisted the strapping young man guide her to and from the door with her hand curled around his bicep. Though she had to be pushing ninety, maybe even a hundred, there was no doubt in Allen’s mind that Zofia wasn’t the frail woman she let others believe she was. The way she handled that cane reminded him strongly of the cudgel fighters he’d encountered overseas, and that grip on his bicep? Like iron.

He pushed her chair in as she sat, her velvet handbag clunking down next to her place setting like it always did. The little opal ring on her finger twinkled as she fiddled with the brass clasp. It popped open, and a whiskered face emerged. Two yellow eyes gave a sleepy blink, then Hobbles the cat leapt from Zofia’s purse, wobbled on ancient legs to his cushioned perch in the windowsill, and curled up to continue his nap. On his neck, a silver collar with a blue bauble like cut crystal caught the sunlight and dappled the tablecloth with a skittering of blue. Allen had never seen the cat do anything but nap and eat sardines, but when you were as old as Hobbles, that’s all you really needed in your life.

“Lunch almost ready, ’Lina?” Zofia asked. “This is the one day of the year where I must keep to a schedule. Dreadful things. They really do cut into my social life.”

“Minutes away, Fifi.”

Zofia inhaled deeply, eyelashes fluttering. “That pierogi? Smells like the motherland. Except I don’t remember my mother serving it with bacon.”

“A recent American addition,” Kalina said, winking at Allen. “It’s quite good.”

Zofia sniffed. “We’ll see. I’m still getting used to the previous one.”

James gave her a heatless side-eye from where he poured water from the kettle into the teapot. “I’ve been married to your best friend for the past fifty-five years, Zofia. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Hmph,” was all she said.

James abandoned the kettle to retrieve a glass bottle from where it kept warm by the stove. He thumped it down in front of Allen along with four shot glasses. “Make her behave.”

Grinning, Allen poured Kalina’s homemade boilo, a spiced honey and whiskey concoction, into the shot glasses. Zofia grinned right back at him.

Once the boilo was distributed and James had brought over the tea and bread, Kalina set the skillet down on the cork trivet in the table’s center. Hobbles lifted his head to sniff the steam, but since they weren’t sardines, the cat when back to sleep. His wolf immediately salivated at the sight and smell of fat pierogi sautéed with onions and bacon. But the man tamed the wolf, and Allen sat still with his cloth napkin in his lap until everyone else had served themselves.

“The Hawthornes arrive today,” Zofia said after she’d taken a bite. “You ready, boy?”

An inexperienced soldier would’ve thought his cover blown, but Allen knew she was only referring to the shipment of supplies he was scheduled to bring up to the function hall. Mostly.

Even so, James and Kalina shared a covert look. James masked it with a compliment on the cooking, helping himself to another serving of pierogi.

Zofia was a sharp one and had pegged Allen for something more than what he seemed soon after she’d met him at Homegrown Roots Grocers. Though what she thought he was, she hadn’t made known, nor had she pressed, relying on her decades-long friendship with Kalina and James to vouch for him. Still, it was a potent reminder to keep his wolf and shifter abilities under lock and key, the same as when he had served as a Green Beret. But insanity awaited a shifter who didn’t obey his nature, so he’d taken to running on all fours deep in the forest where no one could see him.

“Packed it all this morning, ma’am,” he answered her, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the snow swirling around outside. “And you’ll be riding along in the delivery truck with me. No way you’re walking all the way back up that hill in this weather.”

Zofia leaned over to where Kalina sat beside her and asked, “Did that boy just tell me, his elder, what to do?”

“As if you’re going to pass up the opportunity to snuggle next to him on the drive. The truck’s got one of those old front bench seats, remember?”

“Oh!” Zofia turned back to her lunch, looking every inch the cat who had eaten the canary, the cream, and had caught a chipmunk to boot. “How delightful.”

Beside him, James gave Allen’s hand a sympathetic pat. “I’d offer you more boilo to make the drive bearable, but you do have to drive.”

“Thanks, Jim.”

“Hmph,” Zofia sniffed. Then, to Kalina: “I like this American addition much better than the last one.”