“Is that a no?”

“Yes. It’s a no. No kiss for you.”

“Oh, come on!” everyone called out, startling Bo.

“You can’t leave him hanging like that!”

“Kiss him!”

“Go on and kiss him, cutie!”

Then someone began to clap and chant, “Kiss him! Kiss him! Kiss him!” And everyone joined in.

Blayne marched back over to him. “I blame you for this.”

“You’re the one getting to know everybody. If I had my way, we would have never left my uncle’s house.” He leaned down and added in a whisper, “Or my bed.”

“Don’t worry. It’ll still be there when we get home tonight.”

She reached up, placing her hands on his shoulders, and pulling him down until she could reach him while on the tips of her toes. Blayne kissed him and the whoops and catcalls faded to nothing more than background noise as he pulled her in close and kissed her back.

“They’re all staring at us, aren’t they?” Blayne asked when they finally separated.

“Pretty much.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not shy.” She winked at him and headed over to the residents who had lawn chairs and benches out for everyone to sit on. Marci had saved a seat for her.

“You two are looking happy,” she said.

“Not as happy as Grigori was when he got home this morning.”

“Uh . . . um . . .” Flustered, Marci immediately turned back to the pond where the two teams were warming up. “This is very exciting,” she rambled on. “Very few of us have seen Bold Novikov play in years.”

“You guys don’t have a professional team nearby?”

“Only minor teams from other bear towns come this far north. The professional teams won’t come out here because we’re not very welcoming of other species.”

“Oh.” Blayne thought about that a moment. “But everyone welcomed me.”

Marci’s smile returned. “That we did.” She leaned in and whispered, “The whole town’s talking about how you handled Kerry-Ann. She’s usually real intimidating.”

“Is that because of her beady little eyes?” Blayne asked in a whisper. “Because with a little makeup, I could totally help her with that.”

Marci took Blayne’s hand between both of hers, “I am learning to adore you, Blayne Thorpe.”

His uncle, the only one anyone trusted to be ref of this game since he was too hard on Bo to ever ignore his mistakes, was about to drop the puck when they heard all the laughter. They briefly paused to focus over at the onlookers.

“Seems that tiny girlfriend of yours is fittin’ in pretty well, Bold Novikov,” Raymond remarked, obviously impressed.

“She does have away about her.”

“It must be the dog in her, because wolves . . .”

Both teams sneered in agreement about wolves until Grigori leaned in and asked, “Are you two girls done talkin’ or should we forget all this and start braiding each other’s hair instead?”

Bo focused back on the game, doing his best to push Blayne out of his mind. Not easy when he could still taste her on his lips.

His uncle dropped the puck and Bo went for it, trying to get control of it. Bad move. What he should have done was remember how these impromptu pond games were played. If he had, that Canadian polar would have never been able to bash Bo’s skull in with his stick before skating off with Bo’s puck.

Blayne cringed when she saw Bo go down from that hockey stick to the head.

Looks like dinner tonight will be clear soups. Or straight intravenous feeding.

Bo slowly sat up, shaking his big head. Probably all that ringing in his ears was confusing him. But it didn’t last long. His head came up and he snarled, his gaze locking on the polar who took his puck and was busy trying to get past Bo’s goalie.

Bo got to his feet.

“Uh-oh,” Marci said to the woman beside her. “His tusks are out.”

“They’re not tusks,” Blayne argued. “They’re fangs. Like the mighty saber-toothed cat of yore.”

“Yore?”

“He probably got it from his ancient Mongolian ancestors,” Blayne added.

“I doubt it,” a sow sitting behind them said. “Saber-toothed cats were from a long-extinct subfamily of cats. Mostly from North and South America. Bold Novikov’s lion kin come from ancient China but I believe can be traced back to ancient Africa where the first . . .”

The sow’s lecture faded out when Blayne turned around and stared at her.

Grinning, Marci said, “This is my daughter, Rebecca. Did I mention she has her Ph.D. in paleontology?”

Now Blayne stared at Marci.

“Like ‘Jurassic Park,’ dear.”

“Ohhhh. Right.” Because that was a movie she’d seen. “Well, whatever. They’re fangs, as far as I’m concerned. Not tusks. He’s not a walrus.”

“Although he’s been known to eat walrus.”

Blayne shuddered. “Thanks for that, Marci.”

“Just involving myself in the conversation, dear.”

Right. Sure she was.

Blayne returned her attention to the game, but of course that was around the time she was hit with a splash of blood across her face and neck from whatever Bo did to some poor Canadian polar that got in his way.

Trying hard not to laugh, Marci reached into her large designer bag that was part traveling medical bag and part purse, pulling out a large white cloth.