My living room had become an informal meeting place for some of the ladies—my new friends—here in Helen’s Corner. The girls were discussing effective advertising for the upcoming fall season, hoping to lure more tourists to town.

My personal opinion would not have been helpful, so I kept it to myself. Personally, I didn’t want tourists. They were stressful and I didn’t like so many strangers traipsing around. I, however, didn’t have a business to run. The women around me did, and they depended on the tourists to keep them open and running. Which was why I didn’t chime in. My vote would have been to put up roadblocks and maybe even barricades and quarantines to keep newcomers out of the little town of Helen’s Corner, a.k.a. Hell’s Crazy Corner, the place that had recently become home for my daughter and me.

Muddy Hilton, friend, owner of Muddy’s Corner Bed and Breakfast, and my employer, had the floor. It was easy for her to attract the attention of whatever room she entered. In addition to her bold and take-charge personality, her vibrant red hair and peaches-and-cream complexion turned heads. “I liked the year that we all dressed up as witches. I wore those thigh-high boots with the pointed toes and I didn’t have to shave my legs all season.”

Sonnie Chaplan shook her head. “No, it’s not politically correct. I have a friend in Austin who’s Wiccan, and she says that it’s offensive to dress that way because witches look like normal people, not old hags with pointy hats and warts on their noses.”

“Well, now I’m offended. What do old hags look like?” Muddy’s mom, Grace Ellen, piped up. Grace Ellen owned a flea market called Another Woman’s Treasure and looked nowhere near her age. At sixty, she could’ve passed for forty.

“Nothing at all like you, Mom.” Muddy rolled her eyes and held up her hands. “Okay, witches are out. I’m one more rejection away from suggesting we do a month in our bra and panties. Anything to get people in here. Last year, I barely made enough to keep the doors open.”

Sonnie sighed and stared out my open front windows and across the road at her little flower shop. It’s Sonnie Out Flowers hadn’t fared any better, or so I’d heard. “Maybe they won’t mind. The Wiccans, I mean. In the name of sisterhood and all that, maybe it wouldn’t be too offensive.”

Charlie—Charlotte only if you were her mother—Monroe stood up and pointed at Muddy. “Maybe you’re onto something with the bra and panties.”

“Says the woman who owns the underwear shop,” Grace Ellen laughed.

“That’s lingerie,” Charlie corrected, “not underwear.”

“Well, in any case, I can’t afford to get anymore pretty bloomers from you than I already have, Charlie.” Grace Ellen’s words were pointed, but she smiled with a certain graciousness.

“Ahh, but look at my latest,” Charlie grinned and pulled up her T-shirt, revealing a beautiful lace-detailed bra that hugged her generous bust line perfectly. None of us was the least bit ruffled by her display. She was always flashing us her boobs to show off her new designs. “I just finished this one for myself.”

“Oooh…Can you make me one in pink?” Sonnie pulled up her own shirt and showed off another of Charlie’s impressive designs. “I’m wearing this one out. It’s just so pretty. Even though no one can see it, I feel beautiful just knowing it’s there beneath my clothing.”

I scanned my living room and, like some sort of soft-porn pajama party, all the women were showing off their Charlie Monroe Specialty Designs—CMSD—as the black-and-white sign over her store proudly displayed. Her shop did well all year ‘round because the women of Helen’s Corner couldn’t stay away from it.

When Muddy realized my bosom was still completely covered, she made a face at me and nodded toward my shirt. “Well? What are you wearing, Carter?”

Hanes. From before they were chic. I smoothed my hands down my shirt and shrugged. “Carter’s Secret.”

“Well, it’s not Charlie’s Specialty Designs.” Charlie wagged her finger at me. “No matter how many times I beg, you still haven’t let me fit you for one of my creations.”

“And no matter how many times I say I don’t need fancy undies, you still won’t listen.” I patted my chest and shrugged. “No one’s going to be seeing these babies for a very long time.” If ever.

Denny Wade, named after the restaurant chain because her momma, who was always in between one addiction or another, was in the midst of food cravings when she gave birth to her daughter, barged through my front door with all the finesse of a bull in ballet shoes. I watched as a framed picture of my brother and daughter started to fall.

Muddy reached out and caught it, showing off her shifter reflexes. “And Denny has arrived.”

“Sorry. Sorry about the picture. Sorry. Oof.” Denny dropped onto my favorite chair, which was half-covered in a faux fur throw and had a matching ottoman. She looked around the room and blew out a big breath. “Sorry, do you happen to have any dessert, Carter? I need something sweet. Or rich. Or just something with lots of butter.”

I stood up and smiled at her, thankful to have the attention off of my five-year-old Hanes bra. “You’re just in time. I’ve got strawberry bourbon cupcakes with maple drizzle and fresh lemon zest, but only if you tell us what’s got you so frazzled.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “I’m not done with you, Carter.”

Denny was already off on her story, though, so I was able to escape to the kitchen. It was the only room in the house that was completely put together. The rest still had moving boxes that I hadn’t yet unpacked, despite the fact that Jellybean and I had been in Helen’s Corner for a couple of months already. I had two dozen cupcakes that I’d finished icing only an hour or so before. The women always managed to know and “stop by” whenever I was trying out new recipes. I guess that was to be expected in a town of predominantly female shifters. Their heightened sense of smell was one thing, but when it came to sweets, a she-shifter could sniff ‘em out for miles.

“Hey, do you—” Muddy stopped when she saw me and frowned. “I’m sorry, Carter. You’re missing Jellybean, huh?”

She’d caught me staring at my daughter’s latest artistic creation hanging on the fridge. It was a colorful crayon drawing of her Uncle Cannon and his mate, Uncle Matt, standing next to Jellybean and me. My arm was around an indistinguishable, swirly blur of color that looked a bit like a rainbow tornado.

Since Cannon had found his mate, she was obsessed with the idea of me being with someone. If I didn’t miss her so much, I’d almost be glad for the break from her subtle and not-so-subtle hints. She was visiting her uncles, Matt and Cannon, at their home in Burden, Texas, for a few weeks. I touched the blur and sighed a sigh of single mom’s guilt. My daughter wanted a dad.

I snatched my hand away from that damned blur and tried to shake off the bad feeling I got every time I thought of bringing another man into our life. “Yeah, I am. She’s only been gone for a couple of days and I’m already going a little stir crazy.”

“I’ll be sure to keep you busy, then.” She grabbed a stack of napkins and waved them. “Come on. Stuffing your face with one of these cupcakes will make you feel better. Plus, she’ll be home before you know it.”

I nodded. It was true. I needed the time she was gone to try to get our home in order. There was never any time to unpack when she was home. She required full time supervision. She had too much of me and Cannon in her. She was wild and brave and everything good in the world somehow, despite what we’d gone through.

I grabbed the cupcake stands and smiled. “Let’s go hear what Denny’s been up to.”