Bodyguard

That was for sure.

Mabel, always resilient, stripped off her clothes and got into bed in her underwear. Mabel usually slept in the nude, so Elizabeth supposed she was keeping herself covered to be courteous to Elizabeth. She'd brought Elizabeth's nightshirt and a change of clothes in a shoulder bag, and Elizabeth pulled on the nightshirt and snuggled down against Mabel. She closed her eyes but, as she'd guessed it would, sleep evaded her.

But it wasn't the kid with the gun Elizabeth kept seeing as she lay, restless and awake. It was Ronan, first charging in to her rescue, then rising into a perfectly proportioned, hard-bodied man with muscles everywhere. He had one tatt, a Celtic interlocking pattern that laced across the small of his back. His buzzed short hair was dark brown, almost black, but with highlights of lighter brown. His bear's fur had the same rippling, rich brown color.

Tonight Elizabeth had seen him range from enraged and ready to kill, to annoyed, to resigned, to worried, to reassuring, to affectionate. Ronan might be gruff with the kids who lived with him, but she could tell he was fond of them.

Elizabeth had always had a problem with trust. For good reason--some of the people she'd ended up living with as a kid had been horrible, some dangerous. She'd done everything in her power to protect Mabel from them, which meant she'd had to make some tough choices.

The lesson Elizabeth had learned early in life was that you didn't trust anyone. For any reason. People who acted as though you could rely on them would turn on you the second they were no longer interested in your problems. You couldn't count on even the nicest people in a pinch.

So she didn't know what to make of Ronan offering her and Mabel a place to sleep, or the Shifters surging across town to get Mabel out of danger. She didn't know anything about Shifters or what drove them--or what they'd expect from her in return.

She could only do what she'd done all her life--sit tight, scope out the lay of the land, and decide what to do from there. Her eyes remained open as she thought over all this, but Mabel soon dropped off into innocent sleep, emitting faint, peaceful snores.

*** *** ***

Elizabeth left her room in the morning to the smell of coffee and bacon wafting up the stairs. Cherie was across the hall, leaning against the closed door of the one bathroom.

"Come on, Scott, does anyone else get to use the bathroom today?"

Scott's voice roared back over running water. "I'm in the shower!"

"You've been in the shower for half an hour. We have guests, you big idiot."

"I didn't ask them here!"

Cherie saw Elizabeth and rolled her eyes. "He's in Transition. It's like he can't get himself clean enough, as if that's going to make females fall all over him. There aren't enough female Shifters in this Shiftertown anyway--he won't have a chance to mate for years yet."

"Transition?"

"From cub to adult," Cherie said. "I hope I'm not this insensitive when it's my turn." She slapped her palm to the door. "Scott, would you quit hogging the bathroom?"

"Go next door!" he shouted.

"Males." Cherie rolled her eyes again. She was pretty, with the deep, startling beauty that Rebecca had, hers not as fully developed yet. Cherie looked about twenty in human years, only a little younger than Mabel, but apparently, like Connor, she was still considered a cub.

"Probably best you have breakfast first," Cherie said. "If there's any hot water left when he's done, you and your sister can have dibs on the bathroom."

"Whatever works," Elizabeth said, shrugging. You needed to establish territory fast in a foster home, but you also had to show that you were willing to be flexible with those who didn't fight you. Besides, Elizabeth would be home soon, in her own bathroom.

She went down the stairs. This was an old bungalow, likely built in the 1920s or 30s, laid out in a square with the staircase in the middle. It was pretty big, as far as bungalows went, to have four bedrooms and bath upstairs, a large kitchen, dining room, and living room downstairs.

Elizabeth walked into the kitchen to find Rebecca setting seven places at the table and Ronan hunched over the stove in jeans and black T-shirt, cooking what had to be five packages of bacon and four cartons of eggs. An entire loaf of bread, toasted, was piled on a platter, and four more slices popped out of the toaster as she walked in.

Ronan glanced up at her and gave her a wide smile, full of energy. "I do a mean biscuits-and-gravy, but I didn't have time this morning. Scrambled okay with you?"

"Fine."

Rebecca was giving Elizabeth a critical look. "You didn't sleep, did you?"

"Not really."

"Can't blame you."

Rebecca was tall and leggy, but large, nothing willowy about her. She wore jeans and a sleeveless top and had pulled her curly hair into a ponytail. Like Ronan, she had a restless vitality, one that said she might wear human clothes and set the table with matching silverware, but she'd rather be out running through the woods as her bear.

"Sit down, Elizabeth," Ronan said. "We'll fatten you up."

He piled the rest of the bacon and eggs on another platter and carried it and the toast to the table. Elizabeth stared at the mounds of food heading her way.

"A slice of toast is fine with me," she said.

"Best thing for shock is a hearty meal." Ronan stuck his spatula under the eggs and piled a load on her plate. "I've got some roasted red pepper salsa if that's your thing, or good old-fashioned salt and pepper. Butter and jam for the bread, and best of all, honey. Bears like their honey."