The Wolf Marshal's Pack (U.S. Marshal Shifters 3)

And he figured he should encourage the mutt taking a more sensible approach.

Sure, he said. Maybe blueberries and apples.

It earned him a tail wag.

He was starting to feel like as much of a pet owner as he was a werewolf, and he didn’t think he minded that at all. It was one way to be a little easier on himself.

Luckily for him, Gretchen really knew how to stock a kitchen. There was a whole pork roast in there.

Since Colby was feeling ambitious, he started prepping it, layering onions and carrots at the bottom of the scratched-up roasting pan and seasoning it thoroughly. His dad had always added brown sugar to a roast once it was in the final cooking stages, so he hoped to find a bag of that in one of the cupboards—the dry goods in safe houses tended to build up, since they didn’t expire at the same rate as the stuff in the fridge.

To salve his wolf’s ego, he decided to cut up some apples, too, so the juice would help flavor the pork.

Aria had decided to shower before she’d gotten dressed again, so when she joined him in the kitchen, her hair was still damp and glittery with stray droplets of water. She was dressed in fresh new clothes she’d retrieved from her overnight bag. A soft, cranberry-colored dress clung to her body, highlighting her luscious curves; it ended only partway down her thighs, drawing attention to her legs. Attention that her legs infinitely rewarded.

He stared at her, and only belatedly realized that she was staring back at him with equally fervent attention.

“You look incredible,” he said.

And at the same time, she said, “You’re making a pork roast.”

At least then their laughter was simultaneous.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You look incredible too. I mean that. But I already knew you were gorgeous, and I didn’t already know that you could cook. Let alone ‘come into a strange kitchen and start putting together a perfect Sunday dinner’ cook.”

He smiled and moved over so she could stand beside him and see what he was doing.

He liked standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her, like they were taking on the world together. Or at least taking on the roast.

“My dad taught me. He came from a long line of really devoted cooks—his parents owned a restaurant together, an old-fashioned barbecue shack. I think making dinner relaxed him, no matter what kind of day he had. It does that for me too.” He slid the roasting pan into the oven. “Sometimes when you have a rough day, it feels like a miracle that you can take a bunch of separate things and make something delicious out of them.”

“I never thought about it like that. You might get me to try making something more ambitious than trail mix.”

“I do still want to try your trail mix. Especially the s’mores kind.”

“We can definitely make that happen.” She looked through the oven at the roast. “I don’t know that I really have anything in my life that comes together with that kind of consistency. I can do everything right when I’m out in the field, but sometimes the perfect shot just doesn’t happen—there’s too much you can’t control. And then I come home, and I do everything I can to make sure Mattie’s growing up okay, but of course sometimes she’s cranky or she wants something I can’t give her. I don’t have anything that just... always works.”

Colby put his arm around her.

“I think my dad felt that way too,” he said quietly. “It’s got to be hard raising a kid all on your own—no matter how great your parents are about helping out. And having a job that you love doesn’t mean that you’re going to love every day of it. It’s nice to have something be simple. I could teach you some of the family recipes.”

Moose, his wolf suggested.

Unhelpfully.

“But,” he went on, “if it helps, you have me.”

She looked up at him, a question in her lovely brown eyes.

“You have me,” Colby repeated. “No matter what your day has been like, when you come home, what’s between us is always going to work. That’s what being mated means.”

She nuzzled into his shoulder. “Every time you tell me something else about what it means to be a shifter, I like it even more.”

“Well, I can change that in a hurry,” he said dryly. “My wolf keeps telling me to go out and get you a muskox like a real provider would.”

She giggled. “Yum, I love country-fried muskox.”

See? his wolf said. I was right!