“Still wouldn’t trust her. Just because she’s your blood doesn’t make her blood.”
That might sound like gibberish, but I knew what he meant. There was a bond in a family that went beyond DNA. I’d shared everything with the Carstairs, and I loved them. But, oddly, or maybe not now that I knew the truth, I’d never felt related to them. Yet the instant I’d seen Raye Larsen, I’d known we shared more than the same nose and mouth. We shared parents and a past.
“I have to go.”
“Don’t,” my mother said. “Not yet. Please.”
“Mom, I have to think.”
Her eyes filled. “You called me ‘Mom.’”
“You are my mom. Nothing will change that. But I have to go back to town.”
“With him?” My dad’s gaze was on Owen.
“He brought me,” I pointed out. “I don’t have much choice.”
“You do, Becca. You always had a choice.”
I was starting to think I’d never really had much choice at all. I’d been born a witch. Just because I hadn’t known it hadn’t made the magic go away.
My parents claiming me as theirs hadn’t changed who I was. My name might be Carstairs on paper, and in my heart because of my love for them, but deep down, where blood boiled and the soul lived, I was a Taggart.
In the same way, Owen’s leaving hadn’t changed a thing. I still loved him. Always had, always would. Couldn’t stop. There was such a thing as destiny, and I had found mine. Or maybe it had found me.
“I’ll call you.”
The tears in my mother’s eyes spilled over. I felt awful. I didn’t want to hurt her. There were far greater crimes than love. But right now, I had to go.
Outside, Owen whistled and Reggie came running. I opened the car door; he jumped in. It wasn’t until I followed that I saw a tuft of fur hanging out the side of his mouth.
“He’s got something,” I said as Owen slid behind the wheel.
Before I could open the door and bail, Owen ordered, “Aus.”
Reggie opened his mouth. I let out a tiny squeak as what I really hoped was not a rodent fell into my lap. It had been thoroughly drooled upon and would have resembled a drowned rat if it hadn’t been calico.
“Kitten,” I said.
Mine.
I glanced at Reggie. He didn’t seem the type to have a pet or a pal.
“Did he hurt it?”
I picked her up. “Not a mark on her except for the drool. He was carrying her very gently, almost as if he were afraid she might explode.”
Splode.
Aha.
“She is about the size of a grenade,” Owen said. “She kind of looks like a camo cat too.”
Soaking wet, she kind of did.
“I should put her back with her mom.” I got out of the car. Reggie went wild.
No! Mine! Granate!
My father stepped onto the porch. “What in blue blazes is going on out here?”
“Reggie had a kitten in his mouth.” I held her out.
“Ah, her. That one’s mama died. There were only two in the litter and another cat took in the brother. This one…” He shrugged. “She’s weaned and on her own. Haven’t seen her in a while. Thought she might be hawk food. She will be if she keeps wanderin’ off.”
This was usually the way I ended up with fosters. It was me—or the hawk.
I took her with me to the car. Reggie immediately stopped barking and nosed the kitten. Instead of lifting her back like a Halloween cat, she licked his nose.
Mama.
I bit back my laughter as Reggie preened.
Mine. Granate.
“What does granate mean?”
Owen cast me an odd glance. “Where’d you hear that?”
I glanced at Reggie, who was now licking the kitten like any good mama would. “Around. Why?”
“Granate is German for grenade.”
Chapter 21
Owen wasn’t sure what to say to Becca. It wasn’t every day you discovered you were abandoned in the forest.
“Is that your cat now?” he asked.
“I think she’s Reggie’s.”
The dog did appear obsessed. Or in love.
“He isn’t going to be able to keep her.” Owen couldn’t imagine trying to smuggle a cat into Afghanistan. It would probably be easier to bring in some dope.
“You tell him,” Becca said. “I don’t have the heart.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay at your parents’?”
“I’m sure.” She cast him a sideways glance. “I’d rather stay with you.”
He’d rather she stayed with him too.
The crazies were still out there. A lot of them, his mom included. He hadn’t been kidding when he said he didn’t want to let Becca out of his sight.
Owen started the truck, drove up to the main road, paused. “Do you want to stop at your place first?”
“For pajamas?”
He snorted, and he could have sworn she blushed, but it was hard to tell in the blue-gray of approaching twilight. He pulled onto the road and drove toward town.
“What about the wolf?”
“Pru.”
“Pru,” he repeated, and Reggie sat up and looked out the window with interest. The kitten tumbled off Becca’s lap and began to chew on the dog’s foot. Reggie didn’t seem to mind. “What does that mean?”