Ric didn’t know why his cousin was avoiding him. For once the problem had very little to do with Stein, even if the means of getting to Ric had come through him. It was simply too easy to blame the kid, for the fact remained that if his father hadn’t used those polars, he’d have found something else.

Something with more skill at getting to Ric. In a way, Ric was grateful to Stein. His father could have easily found himself a Dee-Ann type who’d have left Ric disabled and bleeding to death behind a closed Long Island dress shop.

Deciding to put it out of his mind for the moment, because he refused to let his father do what he did so well—ruin his holiday weekends—Ric finished seasoning the turkey legs he hadn’t ordered but thought he might have fun experimenting with and turned toward the four stoves he’d had built into his kitchen when he’d purchased the house. He debated whether he wanted to roast the turkey legs or grill them or—ooh!—fry them, when he realized Dee-Ann was with him in the kitchen, cleaning and preparing the vegetables. And, it occurred to him, she had been there for a while. She even wore one of the bandanas over her hair, knowing how he’d have lost his mind if her hair was swinging free in his hair-free-zone kitchen.

She looked up from the green beans and blinked. “What?”

Ric shrugged. “Just glad you’re here.”

She returned his smile. “Me, too.”

“I’m especially glad you’re wearing that bikini.” He stepped closer and tugged at the cutoffs she wore over her bikini bottoms. “Although these aren’t really necessary.” And yet Dee still managed to wear them the sexiest way possible, the top button undone, the zipper halfway down to give him a peek at those black bikini bottoms. As Stein had remarked to Ric at one point the day before while he’d watched Smith She-wolves walk past his grill and head toward the pool, “There’s definitely a benefit to having Southern sensibilities around, cousin.”

Very true.

“There are children around. Don’t want to ruin ’em for all other females.”

“Good point.”

She took hold of his T-shirt and tugged him closer. Ric pressed his mouth against hers but he didn’t manage to get very far.

“I’m hungry,” a cat whined, standing on the other side of the kitchen island. “Dinner ready yet?” Ric glared at Mitch Shaw. “I just fed you a couple of hours ago.”

“Why do you wolves always say that to me like it’s supposed to mean something?”

“Is there more food?” Brendon Shaw yelled from outside.

“No!” Mitch yelled back. “He’s in here making out with Dee instead of feeding us!” And if Ric had been a half-second slower, Mitch Shaw would have been wearing that eight-inchchef’s knife Dee had aimed at his face.

Dee had to admit she was impressed by how Ric ran these mass barbecues with lots of breeds and personalities involved. Several barbecue pits worth of meat could lead to all sorts of trouble when dealing with so many predators, but he had been smart from the beginning and drafted Lock, Novikov, and Bobby Ray to manage the food. Then he let the wild dogs feed their kids first, ignoring the whining and roaring from the lions who had woken from their deathlike slumber as soon as someone yelled out,

“Food’s on!”

Once the kids were taken care of, he set up lines for the buffet, but had already pulled out a couple of slabs of ribs just for Mitch and Brendon. While the pair downed that, the rest of them were able to get their food without much of a fuss. Something Dee was sure all concerned appreciated.

Two hours later, there was barely any food left and the pool area was filled with well-fed shifters enjoying the night as small lights automatically popped on around the property.

Like her mother and her mother’s mother, Dee-Ann had made sure everyone else had eaten before she went back to the buffet to get her own. There wasn’t much left to choose from and she sighed a little, picking up one of the few clean plates stacked at the corner of the table.

“Your food is inside, Dee,” Jessie Ann told her, taking the plate away while a group of wild dogs and Blayne helped clean up.

“Sorry?”

“Ric made you a plate. It’s in the kitchen somewhere.”

“Probably in the oven,” Blayne piped in, expertly stacking up dirty plates and platters.

“All right. Thanks.” Dee started to walk off, heading back to the kitchen, but she stopped and asked, “You know where Ric went?”

“Check the roof,” Blayne told her.

Dee went to the kitchen. Stein sat at the kitchen table with his head resting on his arms. The poor thing had had a hell of day, hadn’t he? Beaten up by polars and made to cook for demanding lions.

He’d come through it like a trooper, though.

“You all right?” Dee asked while she found her plate of food right where Blayne had told her it would be.

“I’m all right. Just exhausted.”

“You did a nice job this weekend. Taking care of all these people. And the food was great.”

“That was mostly Ric. He’s an amazing chef.”

“You will be, too.”

Stein slowly sat up. “How do you know that?”

“I know that because I know your cousin. He wouldn’t bother pushing you like he does if he didn’t think you had the talent to back it up.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Thanks.”