“Get stuff you’ll eat, Stevie,” Charlie reminded her sister.
“That’s why I said, ‘get some chicken.’ Max will want cow. I want chicken.”
“Just saying.”
“Well don’t!”
Charlie waited until Stevie was gone before she laughed. “She’s so sensitive sometimes.”
“Can you bring over the grill?” Berg asked his brother.
“Yeah. And some charcoal. I’ll be right back.”
Charlie put the bread dough in a pan and put the whole thing in the proofer drawer. That’s when it hit her . . .
“This oven’s new.” She stepped back to get a good look. “Like . . . super new. And expensive.”
“Yeah. I saw the delivery guys earlier today after you all left. Tiny let them in.”
“Why would he buy us a new oven when we’re just renting the place?”
Smirking, Berg held up the list of treats that Tiny had brought her.
Charlie rolled her eyes. “Come on. Seriously?”
“Well, now you kinda gotta.”
“Bears,” she complained before snatching the list from Berg.
* * *
Stevie was following behind Britta. As they neared Dutch’s car, where his sisters were sitting on the trunk and leaning against the doors, the bear stopped and asked, “Still here?”
Dutch stepped forward. “My sisters want to apologize to—”
The rest of what Dutch was about to say was drowned out by his sisters emphatically denying that they were going to apologize to anyone.
Britta roared again but before Stevie could run back into the house, she caught Stevie by the back of the neck and lifted her up so that her feet kept going but she didn’t actually move anywhere. It was a little embarrassing.
“Now listen up, ladies,” Britta announced. “I’m about to go out and get meat. Lots of meat. For a barbecue. And I could go ahead and pick up some elk, which I hear your kind enjoys. Or I can get just enough food for three bears and three honey badgers. Your decision. Choose wisely.”
Stevie felt like flailing her way out of Britta’s grip but she was also enjoying the way the bear treated the wolverines. Not taking their shit, but still trying to make it better.
Still holding Stevie, Britta started across the street, but Mia jumped from the trunk and asked, “Are you getting corn?”
“I can. And potatoes.” Britta smiled and said again, “Choose wisely.”
They reached the other side of the street and Britta finally released her, so Stevie could get into the SUV.
Once they were inside, Britta started the vehicle and immediately turned on the AC.
“I still make you nervous, Stevie?” she asked as she slid on her sunglasses.
“Everything makes me nervous.” Stevie thought a moment. “Well . . . not everything. But man-eaters definitely make me nervous.”
“But tigers are man-eaters . . . and you’re half tiger.”
Stevie stared out the front window for several seconds ruminating on that bit of information before admitting, “Dear God. I’m terrified of myself.”
chapter TWENTY-EIGHT
Max didn’t know when this had turned into a party. She’d been sitting on the metal picnic table—seething, because she loved Dutch’s sisters but she wasn’t about to let anyone go after Charlie or Stevie on her watch—when Dag walked in carrying a giant barbecue grill. He was carrying it alone. Like one might carry a small carton of apples. The only trouble he seemed to be having was that its dimensions made it a tad unwieldly.
Without saying a word, he’d placed the grill down, walked away, returned with a bag of coal, lighter fluid, and a lighter. He didn’t use them, though. Just set them up and walked away.
That was around the time random bears began wandering through their backyard. Peeking into the open window, heads moving as they sniffed, sniffed the air. A few sized up the window as if they were wondering whether they would be able to rip it out of the wall so they could just get in there and devour the treats Charlie had started baking.
She wondered if this was how full-blooded bears dealt with cars that had empty fast-food containers in them. Did they look in? Circle around? Debate tearing the vehicle apart? Before simply trying the door?
One of the bears—a sow, of course—did that. She just walked in. And, three seconds later, came running out when a hissing Charlie charged her.
Charlie slammed the screen door shut and that was the last bear that actually attempted to enter their house without an invitation.
Berg came into the backyard, giving Max a sweet smile before getting the grill going. He sure did seem happy. He’d spent only one night with Max’s sister, but maybe that was all he needed to know how he felt about Charlie MacKilligan. Wading into a weasel fight to protect a woman was a definite statement for any shifter male.
Now he was getting ready to grill . . . like any middle-class American husband. It was adorable. Who knew that Charlie MacKilligan would have an “adorable” relationship? With anyone?
Max’s sister didn’t really do adorable. Then again, she was a stand-up girl. She could have taken out any and all of those wolverines. She’d had a gun holstered to the back of her shorts. But she hadn’t done it because she would never do something like that to Dutch’s sisters. Max wasn’t sure that she could be as honorable as her sister. Not when a group of crazy broads were screaming at her and hitting.
Eventually, those screaming broads came into the backyard. They barely looked at Max, which was good because Max was eyeing them with great intensity. Honey badgers loved a good “eyeing” as Max’s mother called it. Wolverines, although just as ballsy as badgers, didn’t go out of their way to challenge anyone. They just moved along, hoping not to be noticed, so they could get what they wanted and then disappear.
Not badgers. They’d go through your garbage with you standing right there, trying to shoo them away.
Dutch sat down beside Max on the picnic table and together they watched as Mia threw back her shoulders and entered the house.
Depending on her attitude, the discussion could go any number of ways. But, after about five minutes, she came back out alone, holding a six-pack of beers. She took one and handed over the rest for her sisters to divvy up.
If Charlie was giving out liquor, they’d made up. Big sisters understanding each other.
Max pressed her shoulder against Dutch’s arm and he let out a relieved sigh.
“If there’s a barbecue,” Mia said after sipping her beer, “how about a little music?”
“Okay,” Max replied. By choosing to speak to any of the She-wolverines, Max was saying she was letting all of this go because Charlie had. Stevie might be a little more difficult to make up with, but Max doubted it. Their baby sister didn’t really hold grudges the way Max and Charlie did.
Although Max had been super impressed with how Stevie had thrown her skinny little ass into that fight. She’d always been a runner, their little sister. Which had been fine because Charlie and Max had taught her to run since that day. That day they’d all had to run when Charlie’s mother had screamed at them to do just that. That day when everything had changed. And the life they’d known had ended.
That was what they’d taught Stevie to do and she’d become really good at it. Sometimes running with so much screaming and roaring that their attackers were thrown off, allowing Max and Charlie to do maximum damage.
But when Stevie had seen that Charlie was in trouble, she had done what both Max and Charlie would have done in the same instance. She went in swinging.
Max couldn’t be prouder.
Eventually, Britta and Stevie returned with so much meat and corn and potatoes that another bear brought his own grill over. A much bigger one that the grizzly carried by himself.
In short order, both grills were going strong, music was playing, and Max began to wonder if the neighbor bears would complain. They didn’t seem to like too much noise. Stevie’s panicked screams rea
lly upset them.
But most were still lurking around the kitchen window, hoping for food. At one point, Charlie put a cherry pie on the window ledge. Two males got into a fight over it, allowing a sow to take it for her and her children.
It was pretty funny.
But as soon as a couple of black bears dived into the pool Max and her sisters had yet to use . . . it was officially a summer party.
* * *
Berg turned the deer legs over, added some more seasoning, and covered the grill. He then moved to the second grill and dealt with the elk. Then the third grill and dealt with the steaks, hamburgers, and hot dogs.
Britta had already gone back to the shifter-owned grocery store for more meat and sides. Mrs. Fitzbaer was helping out by roasting the corn and potatoes, but she was doing it from her house. She didn’t feel like having “some hulking man-bear take my grill away.”
Charlie was still in the kitchen baking, getting everything on that list done. Tiny had already gotten his honey-pineapple cake and had happily carried it home to hide away before coming back and invading the pool with a beer and a few of his friends.
Then things got weird.
Dag bumped Berg’s arm to let him know that a lion male was walking into what Berg was considering a bear party that just happened to have badgers and wolverines.
That was only a minor weirdness, though. Lion males were always attracted by food and had no problem just wandering into your yard . . . and taking some. Because they were lion males and they thought they could get away with it.
But the big weirdness was that when the lion male walked in—with several wolf females . . . also weird—he threw his arms open and Dutch ran into them.
Dutch, a few inches shorter than the lion, jumped up into the feline’s arms, wrapping himself around him like they were reuniting after the lion had gone off to war or something.
“I have nothing to say about that,” Dag muttered.
“Probably for the best.”
“Don’t like having cats here, though.”
Berg shrugged. “Who does?”
The weasel walked around the party with his lion and the lion’s friends, showing them around, introducing them to some people, until they reached Berg and Dag.
“Berg and Dag Dunn, this is Mitch Shaw and his mate Sissy Mae Smith of the Smith Pack.”
Berg’s neck muscles tightened. “You brought a Smith Pack wolf into bear territory, weasel?”
“Sissy Mae is Alpha female of the New York Smiths with her brother Bobby Ray. Thought it was a good idea for the MacKilligans to get to know her in case they run into any trouble when they’re in the city.” He winked at Berg—which Berg just found annoying—and took the She-wolf’s hand. “Will you and your Packmates be swimming today, Sissy Mae? The MacKilligans have a lovely pool.”
The She-wolves looked over at the pool filled with bears. No wolf with sense would get into a watering hole with bears. But despite that belief, Sissy Mae yelled out, “Woooo-hoooo! Let’s get wet, ladies!” Extra small T-shirts and tiny denim shorts were dropped, revealing even tinier bikinis, and the She-wolves took off running, jumping into the pool without caring about the bears already in there.
A few seconds later, stripped-down She-weasels in equally tiny bikinis followed the wolves, screaming and diving into the water.
“Isn’t my girl amazing?” the lion male asked. “She can start a party at a grave site. Oh wait . . . she did that once,” he recalled. “It wasn’t planned, of course, but no one really liked the deceased anyway and we all had such a great time.”
The lion smiled before asking, “So . . . is that zebra I smell?”
* * *
Charlie was loving this oven. Loving it like sunshine. She was able to make several of her best baked goods at the same time.
She knew she was missing the party outside, but she was enjoying her time inside baking. With such a big crowd of shifters in the yard, she felt confident she didn’t have to worry about any outsiders coming for her sisters or her. So she could bake without worry, without stress.
She got through Tiny’s list pretty quickly since there were a lot of cakes and quick breads. Nothing with yeast. While those baked, she worked on the more complicated breads, perfect to go with all the meats and sides grilling outside.
It wasn’t until she was taking the last batch of rolls out of the oven that she realized the music outside had increased, as had the sound of voices.
Drying her freshly washed hands, Charlie went out the back door. It was as if she’d stepped into one of those desert raves. Only it was in her backyard. She’d be worried about complaints if most of the neighborhood didn’t seem to be in attendance.
Charlie went looking for Stevie first and found her sitting on a low-hanging tree limb with Kyle. His giant panda protection not too far away; amiably chatting with local giant pandas from down the block. Stevie and Kyle were eating grilled meats and corn and people-watching.
Stevie people-watching was a good thing. She seemed to get her best ideas doing that—either for science or music—and hanging around geniuses such as Kyle somehow grounded her. A kid like that, so full of himself, reminded Stevie that she needed to be more human sometimes. That her work affected actual human beings. It kept her from just creating to create without thinking about long-term consequences.
Most scientists and artists were firm believers that to worry about those kinds of consequences stifled creativity. Stifled their work and the greatness that could come out of it.
And, Charlie would agree. Except where her sister was concerned. Because Stevie’s creations could not just destroy thousands or even millions. Without meaning to, she could destroy the planet. She had that kind of brain. That kind of genius. One of her early physics teachers affectionately called her “the god-killer.” He hadn’t really been joking either.
So Charlie and Max kept an eye on their baby sister. One of them always on her. At least from a distance. Just to make sure that she didn’t do anything that they’d all end up regretting. . . seconds before the world imploded. Although as Max pointed out, “At least we won’t have to feel bad about failing for long . . . you know, with the world ending and all.”
But right now, Charlie didn’t have those worries. Not with Stevie right in front of her. On a tree limb, laughing and chatting with Kyle. Being part of the human experience and, it seemed, enjoying it.
Charlie could relax. At least for a little while.
Except she didn’t really know what to do with it. Relaxing, that is. Not worrying. Not plotting twenty different ways out of any possible situation that might come up. Although she did have twenty different ways off this street if it was necessary, but she’d come up with those contingencies the first hour after Berg had brought her here.
“Well, hi,” a female voice said from beside her.
Charlie looked over at the tall, dark-haired woman smiling at her. She wore a miniscule bikini top and unzipped denim jean shorts over her bikini bottoms. She held a beer and had her wet hair gathered in a loose topknot.
“You must be Charlie MacKilligan,” she said with a thick-as-molasses Southern accent when Charlie silently stared at her.
“Must I?” Charlie finally asked.
“I’m Sissy Mae Smith.”
And she said it like . . . Charlie was supposed to know her or something. But Charlie didn’t know her. She’d never seen her before. So she said, “I don’t know you.”
“Of course. We’ve never met.” She suddenly leaned in and said, “But I am Sissy Mae Smith.”
Charlie leaned in, too, and said, “And I am Charlie MacKilligan.”
The woman straightened up. “I heard you’re part wolf. Raised by some Pack in Wisconsin, I think.”
“Yeah. So?”
“And you’ve never heard of the Smiths?”
“I beat the shit out of a Smith recently. That was fun. And my grandfather told me not to date any Smiths. Of course, he also didn’t want me to date any
Green Bay Packers fans, which was weird because he was born and raised in Wisconsin. He didn’t want me to date any boxers, which seemed so random. And really didn’t want me dating a cat person. So, you’ll have to forgive me if the ‘don’t date a Smith’ speech was lost among all that.”
“Wait.” The She-wolf sized Charlie up. “Which Smith did you beat up?”
“Uh . . . I think Dutch called her . . . Dee-Ann. That was it. Dee-Ann.”
“You?” she asked, gawking at Charlie. “You beat up Dee-Ann Smith? You?”
“Broke her arm.” Charlie smirked. “Broke her friend Malone’s face. Anyway”—she shrugged—“hope you enjoy the party.”
Charlie left the She-wolf standing there, her mouth open, eyes wide and confused.
* * *
Berg didn’t know what to say when the lion male began the conga line. Mostly because he never thought he’d see bears actually join a conga line. But there they were, bears conga-ing around Charlie’s yard.
“Where’s Charlie?” Britta asked.
He was proud that she wasn’t on that conga line. Of course, she hadn’t drunk that much. Sadly, Berg couldn’t say that about his brother, who’d had a little too much tequila and was now dancing by as Berg and Britta watched.
Pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, Berg asked Britta, “Could you . . .”
She laughed. “Look, I’ll take care of stuff here with Max and Stevie. Why don’t you find Charlie?”
“I just saw her . . .” Berg realized that Charlie was no longer where she’d been.
“Go,” Britta pushed. She kissed her brother’s cheek. “I’ll make these bitchy weasels handle the cleanup. It’s the least they can do.”
“If you can do that, I’ll get us out of Mom’s Labor Day Grateful Dead Celebration Barbecue this year.”
Britta held her hand out. “Deal.”
They shook on it and Berg went off to find Charlie. He didn’t have to look far, though. She was sitting on the trunk of one of the weasel cars—they really had a thing for seventies American muscle cars—drinking a beer and using her bare feet to pet his dog’s back.