“Time to face the firing squad,” I murmured. When I swung the door open, I took a step forward and tripped.
“Oomph!” I hit the hard surface of the floor and rolled on my left side.
Wheeler was sitting against the wall with his long legs stretched in front of the door. He groggily rubbed his eyes. “What are you doing down there?” he grumbled in a sleepy voice.
I tapped my hard nails on the wood floor. “Admiring the unique grain in your flooring. I couldn’t help myself. The varnish is breathtaking.”
He rose to his feet and looked down his nose at me. “You ready for this?”
I sat up and straightened my shirt. “I didn’t mean to cause such a fuss.”
“Women don’t mean to do a whole lot, but they sure do it.”
“Where does that sexist attitude come from?”
“Living in a house full of women who never mean it, but do it anyhow.”
I sighed and stood up gracefully. “You’re impossible.”
He walked alongside me. “I respect women. But they’re complicated creatures. I’ll never understand you, but I have respect for your ability to get yourselves out of trouble more easily than I can.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. We’re both in hot water, but something tells me that all will be forgiven with the great Naya James.”
“And you?”
He held the doorknob and glanced at me over his shoulder. “Sweetheart, I’d be surprised if I got to stay long enough to watch you eat your eggs.”
Wheeler opened the door to the main house and we walked through a modestly decorated room with a few sitting chairs and accent tables. The door on the left let us into a short hall that opened into the living room.
“No!” I heard a stubborn little voice yell.
“Melody, do it for Daddy. Put this on; it’s so super cool,” I heard Jericho say.
When we walked into the living room, he was squatting down and holding up a purple skirt that matched her top. Instead, she had on a pair of pea-green tights. Melody’s hair was the same as I’d seen at the party—divided down the middle with braids beginning halfway down.
She put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin.
“Melody, this goes with your shirt,” he said. “Don’t you want to look pretty?”
“Let her wear what the fuck she wants,” Wheeler spat out.
Jericho glanced up. “We’re going to the movies later.”
“And? The fashion police are going to arrest her? She’s three. That’s a little self-righteous coming from a man who wears leather cuffs, ripped jeans, and eyeliner.”
Melody’s expression transformed from willful to endearing. She wrapped her arms around Jericho’s neck and rested her head on his shoulder. “My daddy loves me. Don’t be mean to him.”
Jericho picked her up and held her in his arms, giving Wheeler a look of defeat. “How the hell can I say no to that? Thanks a lot, Wheeler.”
“Anytime, brother,” Wheeler said with a dark chuckle.
“Why does he care what she has on?” I asked quietly.
“Some of the older kids made fun of her clothes once. I guess he didn’t want his kid singled out. He doesn’t have a thing to worry about with that one. She’s not a sensitive girl and she’ll stand up for herself.”
Without another word, he led me down the back hall toward the kitchen. We turned left and entered the room, the smell of breakfast heavy in the air. Straight ahead, Lexi was humming a familiar song and pulling a pan of buttermilk biscuits out of the stainless-steel oven. Denver hovered nearby, holding a spoonful of jelly and greedily eyeing the plate of french toast.
A long wooden table ran along the right side of the room in front of a beautiful row of tall windows. Austin sat at the left end of the table, and most of the pack was already seated. Some of them looked up at me, but no one said a word.
Wheeler left me standing alone and sat next to Ben with his back to the windows. April and Reno were seated across from them, and Reno was absently stroking her lower back with his left hand.
“Sit down, Denver,” Lexi said, swatting him with a dish towel. She took the last bowls of food and set them on the table before sitting on Austin’s left.
Denver walked by me and winked. “You look like an ice cream cone.”
There were a whole lot of empty seats at the table—room for a growing pack. I drifted forward, deciding that sitting opposite the Packmaster might not be appropriate. Did wolves have rules? I knew enough about pack hierarchy to assume they did.
The small table behind me looked as if Maizy had outgrown it—like an Alice in Wonderland picture. Melody dashed into the room and sat in the opposite chair, sitting on her legs and playing with the magnetic dress-up dolls that someone had hung on the wall between the two girls. Lynn set a plate in front of her along with a purple juice cup.