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Lor trots alongside us in wolf form. Leaning across, he grasps our daughter by the back of her gown and lowers her to the floor. She toddles off to where my mother has crouched, ready to welcome her granddaughter with a hug. With her blond curly hair and the smattering of freckles, no one would ever doubt Rosa was Aston’s, even if she is shameless in her preference for cuddles with Lor.
“You'd think they hadn’t seen each other in months,” I say as I dismount my horse. It has been no more than a couple of weeks. At three years old, Rosa has the entire clan, my mother, and everyone she meets wrapped around her little fingers.
A man steps out of the barn to the side of the house and wipes off his hand. “There's my little poppet,” he says, smiling.
“Grandpa!” Relinquishing my mother, Rosa runs over to the gray-haired beta man who has assumed that honorary role.
When my mother returned here a few years ago, Gael came from Baxter to help with some of the repairs. A widower himself, he had time on his hands. He has an easygoing way and infinite patience. I believe the love that built between them just happened over time.
I still miss my father, and I know my mother does too. Gael will never replace him, any more than my mother can replace Gael’s first wife. But they find companionship in each other and a different love unique to them. One that does not detract from all they had before but grows around it.
As Aston lifts me down from the horse. Lor shifts and discreetly changes into his pants. My mother is still not used to that side of him.
Today, as I take in this beautiful setting, as my mother and stepfather fuss over my daughter, I see the many facets of love.
The love I still have for my papa, who passed.
The love I have for my mother, who has only ever wanted happiness for me.
The love I have for my mates, and which is shown through a myriad of acts as we go about our day, through intimacy in the furs, and the tender kisses that follow.
The mutual love we all feel for Rosa, a daughter and granddaughter.
The extension of all these many variations of love that reaches out to other family and friends, to Gael, who makes my mother happy, to my dear friend Dara, who is already pregnant with her second child, and to the members of the Baxter clan, who have become dear to me.
“Can I see the puppies?” Rosa demands.
“Aye, lass,” Gael says, ruffling her hair.
An empty stall has been set aside in the stable for the mother and her pups. They were only a week old on our last visit, and Rosa had to content herself with looking at them over the gate.
This time, she is allowed in after being cautioned by Aston to be quiet and gentle.
I bit my lip to curb my laughter as my rambunctious daughter applies herself diligently to this end, which manifests in everything being loudly whispered.
The pups swarm her, their small bodies wriggling and tails beating. She giggles with delight and takes on the task of ensuring they each receive a pat.
“You know we’ll be getting one now, don’t you?” Lor says, slipping his arm around my waist.
Inside the stall, Gael is petting the bitch who is wriggling and thumping her tail with joy that we have come to admire her pups.
Aston sighs dramatically. “We already have one mutt in the house. What’s another?”
Lor reaches across and thumps him on the shoulder. “Asshole,” he grumbles without heat.
“Mama, can we have one, please!”
“Yes, sweetie, we can have one. But not today. They are still babies and need to stay with their mama until Gael says they are ready.
She whoops.
I wince.
My mother chuckles.
The puppies are already smitten and swarm her anew.
“This one,” she announced. “I will call her Snowy.
