“But she’s perfect, Uncle Van. I think I love her.”

Van glanced over at the still-growing She-wolf. A too-skinny little girl with long legs and arms in a T-shirt and denim cutoffs and no shoes.

“Ric, you’re way too young to love anybody but your parents and, of course, me.”

“She needs to eat more,” Ric observed, ignoring Van’s comment. “And I’ll be the one to feed her!”

Rolling his eyes, Van started the car.

“Come on, Ric,” he tried desperately to reason with the kid. “You’re too young for all this crazy mate stuff. You need to focus on other things first.”

“Like what?”

“Food, your hunting skills . . . even other girls,” he answered honestly.

“I hate girls.” He was six. Of course, he hated girls. “She’s not a girl, though. She’s amazing. ” The first time the kid had spoken so many words in a solid five-minute stretch and he was doing nothing but absolutely freaking Van out.

“She’s perfect for me, Uncle Van.”

“No, Ulrich. She’s not. From what I can tell she’s just like her father and that means she needs to be avoided at all possible costs. Understand?”

Ric nodded, carefully buckling his seatbelt and pulling out his book again.

“I understand, Uncle Van.”

“Good,” Van said, reversing out of the parking spot.

“I’ll wait until we’re both older,” the kid went on, “and then I’ll nail her.” Van hit the brakes. “What?”

“Like you and Aunt Irene.”

Panic beginning to set in, Van asked again, “What? ”

“That’s what you told her last night when I was scrubbing the pots from dinner. You were going to nail her. Then you laughed.”

Oh, shit. “Uh, Ric . . .”

“And so I’ll just wait until my future mate and I are older and then I’ll nail her. Or we’ll nail each other. That sounds like more fun. Nailing each other.”

“Listen, Ulrich—”

“What is that, anyway? Nailing? The way Aunt Irene smiled when you said it, I’m guessing it’s fun, right?”

Van rested his head against the steering wheel and wondered how bad a meltdown Ric’s father would have over this. Uptight, rich snob that Alder Van Holtz was, Van was guessing . . . bad.

Eggie Ray Smith closed his truck door and let out a breath. His baby girl went up on her knees in the passenger seat and faced him. “You’re leaving again, ain’tcha, Daddy?”

“Off and on.”

“Momma won’t be happy.”

“I know.” His mate liked having him around. Not underfoot, mind you. She couldn’t stand that.

But she liked to know he was just a “holler away” when she sent the call out that dinner was ready.

“Butyou have to go,” his little girl said, her hand pressed against his shoulder. “You’ve got important things to do, Daddy. And like Big Poppa always says, you can’t do ’em if you’re sittin’ in the backyard having tea and cakes, now can ya?”

Unable to stop his grin, Eggie looked at Dee-Ann Smith. Of all the things he’d done over the years, being the father of this little girl was definitely the most important and fulfilling. “You’re right, Sugar Bug. I can’t.”

“Besides, I can watch out for Momma. Nobody’s gettin’ past me to get to her.” Eggie knew that. He’d made sure that if there was one thing his baby girl could do, it was protect herself and those she loved. Not just fight, mind, but protect herself. He’d learned in the Corps that there was a difference between scrappin’ and protection. An important difference. Because any idiot could fight.

“That’s right. They won’t.” He stroked her cheek with his fingers. “You like your gift, Sugar Bug?” Her grin was wide. “Yep.”

“Good. Happy birthday.” He started the truck. “And don’t tell your momma. We’ll pick you up something else on the way home. But the knife is between us for a few more . . . well . . . years.

Understand?”

She tucked the knife in the back of her denim cutoffs and sat down in the seat. “Yep.”

“Good girl. Now eat your chocolate.”

She studied the still-wrapped bar of chocolate. “That was a cute kid,” she said.

“Still a Van Holtz,” Eggie reminded her. “You’ve gotta avoid the Van Holtzes.”

“But he’s so cute and little,” she argued. “And he looked smart, too. Bet he could help me build a real nice fort so I can fight off those savages, the Reed boys.”

“Don’t care how cute and smart a Van Holtz is, Sugar Bug. They can’t be trusted. You keep to your own. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Dee-Ann broke off a piece of the chocolate she’d unwrapped, handing it over to her father without even taking some for herself first. As Eggie took the candy, he realized that he had the best little girl in the world, and if taking this job with an enemy wolf would ensure she’d always be safe and happy and financially stable, he’d do it.

Because he wanted better for his baby girl. He didn’t want her running ’shine or, like some of his idiot cousins in other parts of the country, guns. He also didn’t want her risking her life every day fighting the world’s worst scum.

But what he definitely didn’t want for his little girl was for her to spend a second of her precious life working for some sneaky, know-it-all, rich wolf who thought because he could cook a steak he was better than everyone else. Nope. That wouldn’t be for his Dee-Ann. Not ever.