“I know. That’s why I’m sitting here with you on my lap and my momma screaming for us to come get something to eat and not in San Francisco doing what I do best.”

“Well, it means a lot to me that you take what I say seriously. That you respect me enough.”

“Darla, if they’re standing right in front of us, trying to hurt you, I’ll do whatever I have to. But I know that what Smiths normally do is not what you’d do. I understand that.” He gave a small shrug. “My daddy doesn’t, though.”

“Your father?”

“Yeah, I went and talked to him before I had to break you and your wild-ass sisters out of prison.”

“We were not in prison. And what did he say?”

“He doesn’t agree, but I should have known he wouldn’t. He thinks we’re making a big mistake, but I told him to back off. That we’d be handling this our way. He didn’t like that, but I think he listened. For once. Maybe.” Studying her face, Eggie frowned and asked, “Darla . . . are you crying?”

She sniffed, wiped the corners of her eyes with her knuckles. “It just means a lot to me that you listen to me. That you hear me.”

“How can I not? You’re the only one who talks to me.”

“Oh, Eggie!” Darla exclaimed as she suddenly burst into tears and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Eggie stroked her back and tried to reassure her. “It’s all right. I don’t really like talking to anyone but you. I don’t find your voice irritating. I find most people’s voices irritating. Now that I think about it . . . I find most people irritating. Whether they’re talking to me or not.”

She pulled back and he realized that now she was laughing. “Well, I’m glad you cleared that up for me.”

“Good.” He framed her face with his hands and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “Now let’s go get you something to eat before everyone assumes we’re doing something that we’re tragically not.”

They stood together and Eggie waited until Darla finished wiping nonexistent dirt off her perfect ass before he took her hand and they headed back to dinner.

“Eggie?”

“Huh?”

“Can I tell everyone that you were jealous of a Van Holtz?”

“Not if you want to be able to sit for the next week.”

“Egbert Ray!”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Dinner went well, with everyone relaxed and enjoying themselves and the food really delicious, especially Miss Pauline’s fried chicken.

But the hit of the evening was definitely the pies Darla and her sisters had made.

She knew they’d done a good job with their pies, they usually did, but she was really surprised by the enthusiasm with which everyone downed their pie and then the requests for recipes. Recipes that none of the Lewis sisters would ever give out. In fact, the more requests Darla got for her recipes or to just make a pie for someone, the more she startedto get an idea that she—to her surprise—really liked.

Still, it was too soon to think about it now. Instead, she helped Miss Pauline clean up.

“So, Darla,” Miss Pauline began, “how are you doing?”

Darla nodded. “Fine, Miss Pauline.”

“You sure?” She leaned in a bit, a trash bag filled with paper plates and plastic cups in her hand. “Earlier it looked like you’d been crying.”

“Oh, that was nothing. Just me being an emotional mess.”

“Darla Mae . . . is it true you’re one of those polygamists?”

Darla froze but before she panicked, she asked, “Polygamists?”

“Yeah. You know, you don’t fight or whatever? Like that Indian fella from a million years ago.”

Darla let out a relieved breath. “Gandhi,” she clarified, although she didn’t bother with explaining timelines. “And yes, I consider myself a pacifist.”

“So you don’t fight?”

“Well—” she began but she heard her sisters laugh and glared at them. They quickly pretended to find something else interesting and Darla refocused on Miss Pauline. “I prefer not to fight. I prefer to discuss things in a reasonable and objective manner.”

“You been in any of those sit-downs?”

“Sit-ins and yes. I’ve been to a few. Also done some marches.”

“What for?”

Darla shrugged, thinking back. “Uh . . . for women’s rights, for racial equality, to end the war.”

Miss Pauline folded massive arms under her massive breasts and studied Darla. “What the hell for?”

“Pardon?”

“What does any of that have to do with you?”

Darla glanced at her sisters, but they appeared as confused as she; Janie Mae gave her a huge “got me” shrug. “Uh, I guess I don’t really—”

“What I mean is you’re a She-wolf. You get out of life whatever the hell you put in. You’d never let some male hold you back. And who cares about race? Species are the real problem. Like idiot cats and hyenas. Don’t much like bears either, but I couldn’t care less what color they are or what god they pray to as long as they stop talking about that damn honey. And war’s just a chance for our males to hone their hunting skills. So why should you go around marching for what sound like full-human problems?”

This was one of those arguments that Darla had heard before from her own kin and it had annoyed her then, too. “Because everything affects everyone, Miss Pauline. We can’t just sit back and let full-humans do this to each other and think we won’t be affected. That we can pretend none of their problems matter. And I, personally, think we have a moral obligation as shifters and more powerful beings to help protect the weaker full-humans who are being mistreated or abused simply because of their gender or race or religion.”