“Skippy, you sit next to me,” Miss Twyla said. “Ruth, you fix a plate for him. Start simple.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ruth hurried to the tables with the food and began filling another plate while Merri Lee poured milk into a plastic cup.

Simon and Kowalski settled Skippy in the chair. The juvenile panted, stressed from the physical change and a body that must have felt like disjointed pieces.

Robert stared, a forkful of mashed potatoes suspended over his plate. “Is that Skippy?”

“So what?” Sam challenged.

“How did he do that?” Robert looked at Sam. “Can you do that?”

“We’ll discuss this later,” Pete interrupted. “Eat your dinner.”

Ruth brought a plate that held mashed potatoes, stuffing, turkey, and a spoonful of the broccoli and cheese casserole. “Wasn’t sure if he could handle corn on the cob.”

Miss Twyla nodded. “This will do for now.”

Skippy lunged for the food on the plate and got a smack on the nose.

“You wait until I cut it up for you.” Miss Twyla cut up the turkey, then put the plate in front of Skippy. She picked up a fork and tapped her finger on the end of the tines. “This is pointy and will hurt if you poke your tongue or the inside of your mouth. I expect you’ll stab yourself a time or two—all children do—but you try to be careful.” She put the fork in his hand and guided it until he’d speared a piece of turkey, then released him. “There you go.”

“How come you cut up Skippy’s food?” Sam asked.

Funny thing for the pup to ask since he’d pushed his plate over to Meg to have her cut up the turkey for him.

“I did that for all my children and grandchildren when they were little,” Miss Twyla replied.

“Grandma Twyla used to cut up my food, but she doesn’t have to anymore,” Lizzy piped up.

<That’s because Pete Denby cut up her food when he cut up Sarah’s,> Henry said, sounding amused.

Sam cocked his head and studied Miss Twyla. “If you’re cutting up his food, does that mean you’re Skippy’s grandma?”

Montgomery choked but didn’t look surprised when Miss Twyla said, “Does he have a grandma? No? Then I guess I am.”

No one spoke for several minutes. The Wolves and Henry kept an eye on Skippy to make sure he didn’t try for the food on anyone else’s plate. The humans kept their attention focused mostly on their own plates.

“So,” Miss Twyla finally said, “what have you children been up to lately?”

Silence. Then Montgomery looked at Simon before turning to his mother. “Which children are you referring to, Mama?”

She looked at everyone around the table, including Blair and Henry. “All of you.”

“We caught a turkey the other day,” Blair said.

“And it’s a fine bird. Isn’t it, Eve?”

Eve Denby swallowed. “A very fine bird. And big enough to share.”

Merri Lee mentioned the new Crowgard cozy she was reading. Kowalski asked if Alan Wolfgard had a new book coming out. Michael Debany wondered if the Wolves had ever played a pickup game of basketball.

Bit by bit they all relaxed, talking about books and games that involved balls of one sort or another, talking about the foods that were a new experience for Meg as well as the terra indigene.

“Corn on the cob is wonderful,” Meg said. “We’ll have to get Jenni, Starr, and Jake to try it this way.”

Merri Lee laughed. “Yeah. I don’t think melted butter on raw corn would have the same taste appeal.”

They talked and laughed and asked Henry about his sculptures. Nathan growled a protest when Meg said she would dock him cookies the next time he was late for work, and that made the female pack laugh, especially when Meg confessed to looking under the Wolf bed to see if Nathan was hiding from her.

Through it all, Skippy sat among them, welcome and accepted.

• • •

Padding to the kitchen as quietly as possible, Jimmy scratched his bare belly, then reached under his boxers to scratch his ass. He opened the refrigerator and swore silently when jars stored in the door’s shelves rattled. When he’d left the bedroom, Sandee had been doing her pig snuffle—a disgusting sound, unlike an honest snore—so she wasn’t likely to hear him, but the damn kids had been trying to sneak food all evening and might wake up and want to join him. Hadn’t he let them have their portion of the food that had been sent over with that damned cop? That should have been enough.

He should have been invited to that big blowout dinner they had at Meat-n-Greens. He was living in one of these apartments, wasn’t he? Mama could have insisted that he, at least, be included. But it was that bitch, Eve, who’d had the stones to ask the freaks to bring her a big-ass turkey, so she was the one who had handed out the invites.

Something he wasn’t going to forget. Just like he wasn’t going to forget that she was supposed to take care of things around the buildings and usually worked alone. Backed-up toilet? She’d have to deal with it, and he wouldn’t need more than a couple of minutes alone with her to teach her why she should be nicer to him—and to persuade her to keep her fucking mouth shut.

Jimmy pulled out the plate of turkey, the three remaining rolls, and the jar of mayonnaise. He would have preferred heating up stuffing and mashed potatoes along with the turkey, but the ding of the wave-cooker might wake the brats, so he settled for sandwiches.