“That boy,” Marci said. “Takes after his uncle.”

“I’m waiting for him to walk home,” Blayne explained, “so I can go back to the sports store.”

“Going to spend a little more of Bold Novikov’s money, dear?” Lorna asked, and Marci wanted to slap her.

“Oh, no. Well . . . actually . . . okay, yeah.” When the three sows only stared at her, Blayne added, “What I mean is, I’m going to spend more of his money, but for him. He’s on this, ‘I’m on vacation’ kick and so he thinks that means he shouldn’t play hockey, but I know and you know and the universe knows that if that man doesn’t get on some skates soon, all hell will break loose. So once I’m sure he’s gone, I’m going to have Mr. Blackmon round up his best equipment for Bo and send it over to his uncle’s house. Kind of like when trying to entice a reformed alcoholic to start drinking again. You just leave the bottle of scotch lying around until he finds it.”

“That’s an interesting . . . comparison,” Marci said, working hard not to cringe.

“Anyway, I just came in to say ‘hi.’” Blayne waved at them and said, “Hi!”

Marci and the other two sows jumped but all managed to remain calm. Perhaps because their cubs weren’t in the room.

Blayne started to walk out but she stopped and faced them again. “I just want you all to know, I’m not here to cause any problems or bring problems or anything. I know I should have probably just gone home with Ric and Lock and Mr. Van Holtz but . . .” she focused on the floor. “I really don’t know who to trust right now. Except Bo. He saved my life, and I want to do what I can to make sure he’s happy while he’s here.” She looked off, bit her lip, and said softly, “He’s been so wonderful to me. I don’t know what I would have done . . .”

Before Marci could move, Jezebel had her arms around Blayne, hugging her tight against her.

“Now don’t cry. There’s no reason to cry.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Blayne stepped back, wiping her eyes with her hand. “I’m not usually this emotional.”

Uh . . . she’s not?

“You’ve been through so much, sweetheart. Is it any wonder you’re a bit upset over the little things?”

Lorna, one of the more tightfisted bears, came around the counter and handed Blayne a cinnamon pastry stick. She knew well enough that Blayne had no money on her, but the thought that Lorna would give anything for free had Marci dazzled.

“You take this, dear heart. You’ll need the extra energy if you’re going running.”

Blayne took the treat and smiled at Lorna. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Now none of that ma’am business. We’re not that old! I’m Lorna. And this is Jezebel Simons. Now youneed anything, you just let us know, all right?”

“Thank you so much.” She gave them a watery smile while enjoying her pastry and walked out the door.

“That poor thing,” Lorna said once Blayne was gone.

“I know!” Jezebel agreed, their tones completely changing in the five minutes the girl was in the shop. “I hope that Grigori Novikov is taking good care of her.”

“He better be,” Lorna said, walking back around her counter. “Or he’ll have to answer to me!”

Blayne walked to the end of the street and turned the corner, her knees almost melting from the delicious taste of the pastry in her hand.

“How did it go?” Grigori asked her, leaning up against the building, reminding Blayne of the man’s nephew.

If Bo ages this well . . . yowza.

“Just as you said.”

“You got the tears, too?”

“I told Gwen working on that tenth-grade production of Romeo and Juliet would totally pay off one day.”

He grinned. “Good kid. Have a good run.” He walked past her and rubbed her head, reminding her she needed to do something with her hair. She’d checked out what Grigori had in his three bathrooms before heading into town, and those two-in-one shampoo-conditioners were considered Satan’s plaything among the O’Neill Pride. She’d have to find something better.

“I know I saw a drugstore,” she mumbled around the pastry. She did see one. About a block away. She started down the street but froze, slowly turning and facing the store she stood in front of.

After a moment, she walked inside and almost fell to her knees.

“What do you want?” a grizzly sow snapped at her from behind the counter, and Blayne knew she was being rude to her, but she didn’t care.

She pointed at the rows and rows of shampoos and conditioners, all—according to the signs out front—made from honey. “Your products . . .”

“What about them?”

“All natural?”

“Of course.” And the sow sounded mighty insulted. “No silicones, parabens, sulfates, or anything else you shouldn’t be putting on your hair.”

Blayne dropped to her knees, real tears this time streaming down her face as she looked up at the suspicious sow. “I’ve been searching for you all my life!”

When Dee walked into the Van Holtz restaurant, she knew something was off. The waiters were all lingering outside in the main dining room, getting ready for their lunch service. Probably not strange to anyone else, but every time Dee had come in around this time previously, the wait staff was usually hanging out in the kitchen. It seemed like a very laid back place until the crowds stampeded the door and then everyone got serious and got to work. But for all of them to be out in the dining room . . .