Page 27 of The Enforcers: NOAH

Mina gave Noah a helpless look, as if to say, see what I’m dealing with?

Brock grabbed a cinnamon bun and bit into it, melted icing threatening to drip down his front.

“Plate, buddy,” Noah said, grabbing one off the tray and sliding it under the pastry. Brock grinned at him, then took the plate and the cinnamon bun and ran back over to his toys.

Noah took his own cinnamon bun. “Smells great,” he said.

But Mina was watching Brock, a worried frown on her face.

“Do you think I should worry about this wolf fantasy?” she said. “He’s always talking about turning into a wolf. He even growls at the other kids at preschool sometimes, if they annoy him.”

Crap,Noah thought. Bad sign.

“What does his teacher say?” he asked.

Mina rubbed a throw pillow absently with her fingers. “She thinks he may need counseling—that he’s not able to distinguish fantasy from reality.”

Or maybe Brock was the only one who understood his reality.

“He’s only four,” Noah said, not knowing how to reassure her without talking about shifters. Which would not be reassuring. “Lots of kids make up fantasies. And this whole custody thing has to be hard on him. Maybe the idea of having a wolf inside makes him feel powerful. More in control.”

“Maybe,” Mina said. She looked up at him. “Anyway, I’m sorry you got tangled up in the train wreck I call my life. I totally understand if you want to bail on Saturday night. Honestly, I never thought you were really serious about it anyway.”

Noah looked at her sitting there, weighed down with worry over Brock, over money, over what that asshole Robbie might do.

Then he thought of her learning Brock’s wolf fantasy might not be a fantasy after all.

He just wanted to wrap her tight in his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay. Then he wanted to move heaven and earth to make it happen.

“We’re still on,” he said. “How does six-thirty work for you? Got any cowboy boots?”

She gave him an are-you-serious look. “I’ve lived in Montana, Colorado and Wyoming. And now Nashville. I think they fine you if you don’t own any cowboy boots.”

“Excellent,” Noah said. “Six-thirty with cowboy boots. I’ll pick you up.”