Tamed By The She-Wolf. Kristal Hollis

tight with Tristan,” Garret said.

      “So?” She never disclosed the things Tristan revealed in confidence.

      “Are you going to talk to him again?” Her father’s narrowed gaze forced Angeline to swallow the food she’d just stuck in her mouth.

      “Tristan? I talk to him a couple of times a week.” Texts mostly, that way he could reply when he had the time.

      “The Dogman,” her dad growled. “Why are you being so evasive? Do you know more than you’re telling us?”

      “Actually, Dad, I don’t.” Angeline put down the food-laden fork in her hand. “Why is everyone so concerned about his business? He’s just a guy that traveled a long way to get here. He arrived exhausted and hungry. I gave him the food I’d brought home from the restaurant and the key to Tristan’s apartment, and then I sent him on his merry way.”

      “Are you going to see him again?” Connor asked.

      “He’s staying a few doors down from me. And I work at Taylor’s.” Most wolfans couldn’t resist her uncle’s fire-grilled steaks. “What do you think?”

      Connor squinted, and she knew he wanted to stick his tongue out at her, like when they were kids, but they’d grown past that childish expression—in the presence of others.

      “You only work part-time,” her father said, always ready to seize an opportunity to hassle Angeline about her employment choice. “When are you going to get a real job?”

      “You may not like than I’m a server, but it is a real job. And in three nights, what I make in tips is more than some people earn in a week.”

      “Your mother and I wanted you to be more than a waitress.”

      “Mom would’ve wanted me to pursue music. But when she died, you sold the piano and wouldn’t allow me to bring any instruments home.”

      Her father’s jaw tightened. “Someone had to teach you to be realistic about your future.”

      “Shouldn’t my wants determine the reality of my future?” Angeline’s chest tightened and with every beat of her heart she felt a sharp pain stab her eye.

      “Not if your head is in the clouds,” was what her father said. However, every time they had this argument, all Angeline heard was that her dad didn’t want her—he merely wanted a version of her that she could never be.

      “Dad, let it go,” Garret said.

      Angeline inhaled a few calming breaths, hoping to prevent a migraine.

      Grumbling, their father stabbed his mashed potatoes and jabbed the fork into his mouth. Everyone else resumed eating in awkward silence, so everything had returned to normal.

      After supper, Angeline collected the dishes and began loading the dishwasher.

      Izzie leaned against the counter. “Your dad is worried about you.”

      “Worried that I might have a stroke from the spike in my blood pressure? Because that’s what worries me.”

      “He’s worried about what will happen to you—” Izzie lowered her voice “—after he’s gone. You don’t have a mate. Or a career. He thinks he failed you.”

      “No, not failed me,” Angeline corrected. “Failed in raising me. I didn’t turn out to be the daughter he wanted.”

      “Your dad loves you.” Madelyn quietly joined them.

      “I know.” Angeline dropped the silverware into the utensils tray and closed the dishwasher. “But he doesn’t understand me. All he wants is for me to fall in line with what he wants.”

      “Couldn’t you give in, just a little?” Madelyn gave her a little shrug. “Maybe put your business degree to good use and help out your dad on one of your days off.”

      “No. He didn’t teach me how to give in.” Nor did she have a business degree, having chosen to secretly study music instead. Angeline dried her hands on the dish towel. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to say good-night to the kids.”

      “Don’t forget they’re out of school for a teacher’s workday on Thursday,” Madelyn said.

      “I have everything planned.” Breakfast, sledding, watching a superhero movie on DVD while overloading on popcorn and hot chocolate.

      “You haven’t changed your mind about Sierra’s birthday party, have you?” Mischief twinkled in Izzie’s eyes.

      “I’ll be the one loaded with all the surprises.” And Angeline couldn’t wait to see the disapproving look on Patrick O’Brien’s face when forced to wear one of the fringed pastel foil party hats she’d bought specially for the occasion.

      Headlights briefly lit the dark stairwell. When they blinked off, Lincoln glanced toward the parking lot and stopped to watch Angeline slide out of her car.

      Seeing him paused on the stairs, she waved but only a faint smile touched her lips.

      He waited, his heartbeat falling into an unusual rhythm, pushing his blood more quickly through his veins.

      “Hey,” she said, climbing the steps behind him. “How was your day?”

      The question caused a little flutter in his chest. Other than the nurses at the infirmary, Lincoln couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked that question of him.

      “Awkward,” Lincoln said.

      “Why?”

      He remained one step behind Angeline as they continued up the stairs.

      “Brice invited me to his home for supper. Didn’t know his parents would be there.”

      “Guess that would be awkward, especially not knowing them.”

      “What about you?” He’d seen the rigidness of her stride walking to the stairs and could feel the tension radiating from her now.

      “Monthly family dinner. My dad uses the opportunity to chide me about my life’s choices. He’s gravely disappointed that, at my age, I’m unmated and have no viable career.” Her entire body seemed to sigh. “If he only knew...”

      “Knew what?”

      They reached the third-floor landing.

      “Doesn’t matter.” An artificial smile curved her tantalizing mouth.

      Nearing his apartment, Lincoln bid Angeline good-night. He fiddled with his keys, listening to the rhythmic thump of her boots retreating down the corridor.

      “Lincoln?”

      “Yeah?” He turned.

      “Wanna come in for a drink?”

      “Sure.” Shoving the keys into his pocket, he walked down to her apartment.

      She’d left the door partially open, so he entered and shut out the cold night air. Angeline had dropped her coat on the back of the couch and had headed straight for the kitchen.

      “Beer, wine or Jack?”

      “Your choice.” He sat on the couch rather than the chair, giving room for Angeline to join him, if she chose.

      After living in tents and barracks, sleeping on the ground, in cots, hammocks or in trees, Lincoln appreciated the upgrade to Tristan’s modern-style apartment. But it lacked the cozy warmth of Angeline’s place. Walking inside felt like coming home.

      Or rather, what he imagined coming home would feel like, if he had one.

      Calm, comfortable and filled with the enticing scent of a sexy, spirited she-wolf.

      A fantasy. Nothing more than a fleeting dream the mind called forth in times of extreme stress just so he could get through the ordeal.

      Each