“What does it look like I’m doing?” She forward flipped, landing right in front of him. “I need to go running,” she said again, and he was starting to realize she didn’t mean it in the “I had too many funnel cakes and I need to burn them off ” sense.

“Why do you need to go running?”

“Because I have a lot of energy built up, and if I don’t work it off, I won’t be held responsible.”

“That kind of sounds like a threat.”

“It kind of is.”

Bo quickly looked her over. “You can’t go running in those clothes.”

“I know. These boots are way too big and the pants way too small.” She leaned around him and gazed into his closet. “Do you have anything I can borrow?” When he snorted, she added, “From when you were a kid?”

“Sure.” Bo went to his closet and pulled out one of his old jerseys. He tugged it over her head, pulled her arms through the sleeves, and let the jersey drop.

“I can’t run in a dress,” she said, not even looking at what he’d put on her.

“It’s not a dress, which I haven’t worn since the baptism.” He pulled her to his dresser mirror. “That’s my junior high hockey jersey. I wore this when I was twelve.”

“I sense you’re trying to tell me something.”

“I am. I’ll need to buy you clothes. If we can find them in your size.”

“That’s okay. I’ll pay you back when this is over.”

“No.”

“No?”

“If you have to pay me back, it’ll limit what I can buy you and how much. I don’t like limits. Therefore . . .”

“Therefore?”

“Therefore you will take what I give you and thank me for it by saying ‘thank you.’ Since I know you’ll assume it—sex will not be required for said clothes.”

“You sure you never went to college?”

“Nope. I just read a lot of books. You should try it.”

“Books . . . so endlessly boring!” Lifting up the sides of his jersey as if it were a gown, Blayne twisted from side to side like a little girl showing off her newest birthday dress. “How about you buy me what you want and I’ll make you dinner when we get back. I’ll even throw in my killer chocolate mousse. Because I’m that giving.”

“I’ll agree if you use my kitchen.”

“You’ve cleaned my kitchen, so it’s totally ready for food service.”

“It’s too small. You can use mine.”

“You’ve scrubbed that kitchen within an inch of its life, haven’t you?”

“Actually, no. I don’t have that kind of time anymore. So I hire peopleto do it for me. But they’ve passed my white glove inspection and that’s all that matters to me.”

Blayne laughed, relaxing back so her head rested against his chest. She smiled at him in the mirror. “Your sense of humor is not for everyone, but I have to say it’s growing on me. Like an out-of-control fungus.”

“That’s lovely.”

Her head tilted to the side. “I hear a truck.”

“That’s the police chief, so I’ll make this quick. You don’t remember anything from the attack after they dragged you out of my truck.”

“I don’t?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Remember how worried you were about my reaction to what I saw in the van?”

“Yeah?”

“Use that logic here. Wolfdogs have a reputation, Blayne. Combine that reputation with trained skills instilled in a daughter by her loving father, and we have worried bears. Worried bears lead to easily startled bears, which leads to tragic maulings. Let’s keep those to a minimum.”

“I don’t understand. Are you telling me that everyone knows or doesn’t know about what happened in that van?”

“I think they’re not sure. You not remembering protects both of us. What works in your favor is that everyone here considers you small”—he pressed his hand over her head and pushed a little until she bent her knees—“and kind of goofy.” He swooshed her around a bit.

“This is humiliating,” she complained, trying to knock his hand off.

“All their misconceptions work in our favor. You being confused and with some memory loss covers us until we leave.” He released her. “Speaking of which, any ballpark on when your father might get here?”

“My father? Oh. That would be never.”

“Sorry?”

“My father will never come here to get me unless you’re releasing my body. And that would be only so he could yell at my corpse for being an idiot at getting caught by trappers.”

“Your father’s going to blame you for this?”

“If my father could, he’d blame me for World War Two and the disappearance of the Aztecs.”

“You two have a very odd relationship.”

“We do.”

“Then I’m unclear on why you sent Van Holtz to him.”

“So when he realizes how little my father cares, he’ll feel guilty and come back here on his knees.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Then I’ll go back. But not before.”

They heard a knock at the door, and Blayne headed out of the bedroom. She stopped briefly in the doorway. “Can I keep this jersey?”