The Accidental Werewolf 2: Something About Harry (Accidentally Paranormal Novel) Page 6

  He eyed them both, and again Mara watched uncertainty and hesitance flit across his handsome face. And then it stuck. “I said I’m fine. We’re fine.”

  Nina’s impatience exploded. “Bullshit,” she hissed in his face. “Now you can either let us in, or I can let myself in. Choose, Harry. Choose well, friend. Because if you choose not to, I’ll have to break things you’ll have to fix, and I get the impression you’re not Bob the Builder.”

  “You watch that?”

  “Yeah. With my kid. She loves Bob. Her Grandpa Arch bought her the DVD collection.”

  Noting he was again relating to the enemy, Harry’s jaw tightened, silently expressing his anger in that all too sexy way he’d acquired just tonight.

  Nina’s impatience only served to make Mara more agitated and more determined to convince him they were here in peace.

  But without so much as another protest, he suddenly shoved the door open with a low grunt, revealing his inner sanctum.

  The place she’d daydreamed about a million times since she’d begun to crush on him over a year ago. Her heart melted at the idea of seeing the house where she’d imagined his seductions—all with Harry as the lead, of course.

  But her crush’s crib hadn’t included a Barbie Dreamhouse with its accessories scattered from one end of the room to the other. Nor had it included canned ravioli, dripping from the buttery soft leather couch and the hyper bouncing of a noisy, if not adorable, little boy, who happened to look a great deal like Harry, on said couch.

  Mostly, it had included a lot of cheesy porn-ish music, heavy on the horn section, and Harry in his boxers, dragging her off to his red and black lairlike bedroom where he’d perform untoward, deliciously sinful acts on her person.

  Harry’s small house, located in the outskirts of Buffalo, was in reality a disaster. So much unlike his work space, Mara was taken aback. This wasn’t the Harry she knew: in control, organized, unruffled—if not a little goofy.

  As Harry picked his way across the room, he stepped on a bright red Lego, mouthing the word “fuck” while hopping around.

  The little boy ignored their entry, and Harry, continuing his bid to reach the ceiling with a plastic sword as his guide. Nina approached him, shoving a pile of dirty clothes out of her way as she went, her head bobbing in time with his leaps. “I’m Nina. What’s your name, little man?”

  He didn’t miss a beat when, without so much as acknowledging her, he said, “None of your business.”

  A grumble escaped Harry’s throat as though he knew he needed to chastise his nephew for his disrespect, but he wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. “Fletcher! Don’t be rude to our . . . guests. Now stop jumping up and down and tell the lady your name.”

  Fletcher made a sour face at Harry’s demand, his small nose wrinkling, his words petulant. “You’re not my dad. I don’t have to do what you tell me.”

  Mara watched Harry’s face change from parental to pained in the blink of an eye. His internal struggle to manage this child was so agonizingly obvious it wasn’t so internal. Oh, she’d done it and done it good. Not only was poor Harry struggling with his sister’s children, but now he was a werewolf. Impeccable timing for a pile-on, Mara.

  Nina grabbed onto the back of Fletcher’s pajama shirt, pulling him up into the air so his feet dangled. “Your uncle said to do something. Do it, dude.”

  All motion stopped. His quiet defiance did not. “But you’re not my uncle.”

  “Nope, but I am somebody who likes little dudes who have good manners. You? Your manners are in the toilet, Shorty. So, let’s start all over again. Introduce yourself to me, little man, and do it right or I get cranky. You don’t want to see Auntie Nina cranky.”

  No truer words.

  Harry’s feet, clad in fuzzy, black slippers, made a scuffling noise. But Mara placed a hand on his arm to prevent him from chastising the boy or even Nina. She’d seen Nina in action with not just her own little girl Charlie, but with Mara’s niece Hollis and countless others at pack picnics. All animals and children adored Nina, something that never failed to amaze Mara, seeing as Nina was the crankiest of the undead, maybe even the world.

  Yet, when Nina had become a mother herself, something no one thought possible, she’d become even better at child wrangling.

  Fletcher hung there, doing exactly what his uncle had done earlier—weighing Nina’s mood—averaging his options. “You’re not giving me enough choices.”

  Nina popped her lips. “Funny thing about that. I don’t have to. Know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m the adult.”

  Fletcher’s sigh reflected his eight-year-old displeasure with Nina. “But Uncle Harry always gives us choices. Like multiple choice. We can do A, B, or C, ya know?”

  “Yep. I know. That’s why you’re jumping up and down on the couch like a wild animal and your house is a cruddy mess, ’cus Uncle Harry gave you all those choices. Auntie Nina doesn’t give choices. She gives orders. Know what those are?”

  He nodded, his attention now fully captured, his bright eyes fixed on Nina and her uncanny knack for child whispering. “Like a general gives orders. That means no choices.”

  Nina tweaked his cheek affectionately and grinned. “That’s exactly right, Fletcher. So, last chance, smarty-pants. Introduce yourself so we can be friends. You’ll totally wanna be my friend because I’m out-of-this-world cool. But you’re gonna miss out if you don’t bust a move. So on with it. Now, please,” Nina repeated with a smile not to be mistaken for leniency.

  He stuck out a hand, lean and thin, with an unsure glance up at Nina. “My name is Fletcher Graham. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Nina grinned and shook his hand, setting him back down on the sofa. “So, how about you help me clean up this mess, Fletcher Graham, while your Uncle Harry and my friend talk.”

  “One question?” he asked, his voice tentative and steeped in respect.

  “Only if you promise to help me clean up. Who dumps ravioli on a couch, dude?”

  His face fell, as if Nina’s disapproval was the end of the world for him. “It was an accident. And only one question, promise.”

  “Go—move while you do it,” Nina said, scooping up the pile of dirty laundry and throwing it into a laundry basket.

  “Why are you so white?”

  “Fletcher!” Harry scolded, his flushed cheeks turning a darker shade of red.

  Nina held up a finger. “’S alright, Harry. I got this. You go handle . . . the other stuff.”

  Concern lined Harry’s face. Clearly, he was still quite unsure whether he should allow Nina to handle it. So he did what any good surrogate parent would do. He began to protest. “But—”

  Nina snapped her fingers together to shush him. “Got this, Harry.” Then she turned to Fletcher, smiling as she waved a finger in the direction of a roll of unwound paper towels sitting on the kitchen counter. “Because I’m allergic to the sun. So I stay inside a lot. Why are you so nosy, Nosy McNose?”

  Fletcher laughed, a hearty, sweet giggle, leaving Mara’s insides clenching and her ears full of his happy tone. “My mom always used to say that . . .”

  Their voices drifted off as he and Nina made their way down a long hall, chatting as though they’d always known each other.

  “Amazing,” Harry muttered, driving a hand through his hair, moving toward the kitchen connected to the family room. He began to move from countertop to countertop, removing soiled napkins and crushed juice boxes as he went, his big body filling up the small space with his scent.

  Mara nodded her head in wonder, right behind him, retrieving a bottle of spray cleaner, and saturating the gob of red sauce stuck to the surface. “I guess, since Nina was the person who answered your call, your surprise that she’s so incredible with children doesn’t shock me. She mostly only tolerates us adults. But she loves c
hildren and animals.”

  Harry stopped dead in the middle of a sticky puddle of what looked like grape juice. “She’s like night and day. On the phone she was rude, belligerent, and threatening. She behaved as though it were my fault I was in this predicament.”

  Mara ventured a glance up at him, catching his distracted wonder. “Nina can be the most difficult, obnoxious, mouthy, opinionated, angry woman I’ve ever known. But there’s one thing you absolutely need to know about her—she’s a marshmallow on the inside. Once you’re in with her, you don’t ever get back out. She’d take a hit for you like you’re her own blood. That’s just who she is. Kids and animals are drawn to her like moths to a flame. Nina’s always the one in the thick of a throng of kids at any social event we’ve ever attended together. I promise, Fletcher’s safe with her.”

  Harry almost smiled then he frowned when he seemed to lose track of what he was doing and the fact that he was angry with her. “He’s definitely better behaved. She got Fletch to listen to her, and she didn’t have to raise her voice even half an octave. Fletch doesn’t listen to anyone, and he hasn’t laughed-laughed like that in forever.”

  “So this has been a hard transition? I mean, guardianship of the kids?”

  Now his focus was back on her. Harry’s eyes pierced hers, sending a shiver along Mara’s spine. “Hard? It’s been almost unbearable for them. Everything happened so quickly. One minute there were soccer games and ballet classes three times a week, fresh cookies and brownies for snacks every day after school, balanced, healthy meals they loved, bedtime stories, and the Ice Capades. And then it all ended in a matter of seconds. They lost their home, their rooms, their nice, neat schedules, and both of their parents. As consolation, they got me—single, bumbling Uncle Harry who doesn’t know a spatula from a SpongeBob.”

  Her heart wrenched. She knew what it was to lose both parents. If she hadn’t had Keegan and Sloan, she’d never have survived. “So no other siblings to help ease the load?”

  “It was just Donna and me. My dad died when we were younger. Mom was a single mother until she died. We lost her eight years ago, just before Fletcher was born.”

  Mara’s throat tightened. “Did you spend a lot of time with them before . . . before your sister died?”

  Harry picked up a wet rag and halfheartedly wiped the speckled granite countertop. “I did. I was the cool, if unexciting, Uncle Harry. We used to be friends. We did all sorts of science projects together. Sort of like a Mythbusters for elementary-aged kids. Now I’m their authority figure and what they call a total jerk when they think I can’t hear. I know nothing about giving them rules and structure. But I’ve been up until my eyes want to fall out of my head, reading books and researching online to help them—me—adjust to this.”

  Harry’s war with not just the children, but himself, and his inadequacies hurt him. It was one thing to be their doting uncle, dropping in from time to time to share a meal and hang out, quite another to be thrust into the role of rule maker. Yet, he loved them enough to try and find a way, leaving Mara sick with guilt that she’d unloaded an even bigger burden on him—parenting as a werewolf who had human children.

  Mara placed her hand on his, stopping the swirling motion he made with the wet rag, trying hard not to revel in his hot skin beneath her cool flesh. “I’m sorry, Harry. Please believe that. I’ll help in any way I can. I know you don’t totally buy that right now, but because of what I’ve done to you, you’re part of our pack now. No one goes without whatever’s needed, and if you need help with the kids while you adjust, we’re here to do that.”

  Harry’s dark, luscious head popped up. “What if I told you I didn’t want to adjust? I don’t believe I have to adjust. If it can be done, it can be undone.”

  Nina was right. Harry wasn’t looking at this from the fantastical. He was looking at it from a scientific point of view. “I’d tell you you’re crazy, but you’ll find that out sooner rather than later. For now, how about we focus on getting the children into bed—”

  A soft moan somewhere from the floor halted more discussion.

  Harry poked his head over the top of the sticky butcher block island in the center of the room and looked toward the floor. He sighed, his chin falling to his chest, his eyes scrunching shut. When he opened them, he asked, “Mimi? I already put you to bed. Why did you get out? And more importantly, why are you sleeping on the floor, sugarsnap?”

  Hearing him speak to the moan on the floor twisted her heart into an unforgiving knot. Mara looked over the top of the island to find a cherubic face, creamy and rosy-cheeked, her kinky-curly hair sticking up at odd angles. Her tiny body curled around a cat wearing a purple blanket over his solid black body.

  “Mimi?” Harry pressed.

  Mimi shook her head. “Coconut didn’t want to sleep in the bed, Uncle Harry. She told me she wanted to sleep out here, near the cans of tuna.”

  Harry dropped to his haunches, brushing a tendril of her wild hair from her bleary eyes. “Mimi? Coconut can’t talk, honey.”

  Sleepy and as defiant as her brother, Mimi sat up, cuddling Coconut to her chest. “She can so talk to me, and when she talked to me, she said she wanted to sleep by the tuna.”

  His eyes found Mara’s as she leaned forward over the counter. “She hates her bedroom, but I think the real problem is she hates being in it alone,” he muttered.

  Ah. Here was a little girl who’d had her small world ripped to shreds, and she was acting out in her fear of her new surroundings. “Did she have Coconut . . . before . . . ?”

  Harry’s nod was firm, but his lips were grim.

  Mimi was afraid Coconut would leave her alone in her bedroom. More simply, Mimi was afraid of being left alone period. She was clinging to the remaining constants in her life for all they were worth so they wouldn’t suddenly disappear without warning.

  Mara got it. She’d done the same with her dog, Archimedes. He’d been her constant companion while the illogical fear everyone around her was going to die at any moment passed.

  Mara gave Harry a knowing nod, then scooted around the island and sat down on the floor, crossing her legs over each other so she’d be eye to eye with Mimi. “Hey, I have an idea. What if you took a can of cat food to your room? Do you think Coconut would stay in there with you then?”

  Her Kewpie doll lips pursed. “Who are you?” she asked with a tone that read more like, “Who do you think you are?”

  Mara grinned at her. “I’m Mara Flaherty. I work with your Uncle Harry. We had some work stuff to talk about, and that’s why I’m here. It’s nice to meet you, Mimi, and Coconut, too.” She ran a hand over the cat’s back, scratching its ears.

  “You have really pretty hair.” Mimi reached up and wound a strand of it around her chubby finger. “It’s soft and straight and really long. Mine’s curly and ugly.”

  Mara took a strand of Mimi’s dark hair and gave it a gentle tug. “I don’t think so. I think it’s beautiful. Do you have any idea how much I’d like to get my hair to curl like that? But it doesn’t. So maybe, if you agree, of course, we can take Coconut to your room, and if you get into bed, I’ll tell you all about how much I hate my straight hair, and you can tell me how much you hate your curly hair. Whaddya say?”

  Mimi’s eyes, large and round, glimmered with far more suspicion than any five-year-old’s should. Everything was new and strange in her world as of late. Mara was only making it stranger. “I don’t like my bedroom here. It’s not like my old bedroom.”

  Harry’s shoulders slumped. The disapproval of a five-year-old was enough to leave him looking crushed. Big, easygoing, calm, rational Harry had just had his knees chopped out from under him by a wee sprite of a girl.

  His eyes fixed on Mara’s again with an apology in them. “I’m trying. I really am. I just can’t get it right,” he muttered in low defeat.

  Her heart churned in her chest again.
She turned back to Mimi and smiled a grin full of mischief. “Well, I’d like to see this room you don’t like. So if you won’t come with me, I’ll just have to go it alone. But I think it’d be way more fun with a friend,” Mara said, her tone light and easy. Rising to her feet to back out of the kitchen, she instinctively knew Mimi’s curiosity would coerce her to follow with Coconut in tow.

  She made her way down the hall, guessing at which room was Mimi’s. She didn’t have to have a light to guide her, the glow from it was so distinct. She flipped the light switch on and winced. It was pink—so pink it hurt her eyes.

  Mimi strolled in behind her, dropping a squirming Coconut on the matching pink carpet. “See what I mean? I don’t like pink. In my old house, I had a purple room. Purple is my favorite color.”

  Harry was behind her; she felt the heat of his poor, hormone-riddled body against her spine—a spine quickly becoming buttery from his presence—and fought the urge to rub up against him like a cat.

  He leaned down, his lips but an inch from her ear. “I painted it before I brought them here, just after I found out Donna and her husband . . . well, you know. I thought pink would be perfect. But I haven’t had time to repaint it, with work and their school schedules.”

  Mara turned around to face him, finding herself at eye level with his wide chest. She took a deep breath and a step backward.

  While Mimi busied herself with a cluster of dolls in the corner of her very pink room, she whispered, “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Harry. It’s obvious you’re doing the best you can in a really difficult situation. I can see you love them. And the pink isn’t so awful—in a Pepto-Bismol kind of way.” She hoped her playful teasing would make him smile like he smiled when he was sitting at his desk, playing with all those numbers he loved so much.

  Harry shoved his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts, his expression sheepish. “I have a bad eye for color.”

  She grinned. “I think you could win contests.”

  He chuckled out of the blue, warming her to her core. Then he must have realized he was consorting with the enemy. Harry’s spine stiffened once more, and his eyes clouded. “Anyway, we’re good. As good as we can be under the circumstances. So if you would take the Crypt Keeper and leave now, I’d appreciate it.”