Her rogue heir

Lost … or not

*Henrietta*

Returning to my chair by the fireplace in the parlor, I am soon joined by a more pleasant company: Snoopy, my black-and-white cocker spaniel. Bringing him onto my lap, I allow my thoughts the luxury of contemplating my recent guest.

Dimos Softpaw is certainly more handsome than his father. His thick dark hair had been recently trimmed. His eyes are a warm hazel, but when he came close to me with a fury that caused them to burn an even deeper hue, I realized that within the irises are the tiniest streaks of green. They make him more intriguing than he should be.

I liked that I had to tip my head up slightly to meet and hold his gaze. Unlike his father, he has yet to get fat, although I suspect he might never follow that route. In spite of the fact that his clothing doesn't fit him particularly well, he is clearly a fine specimen of toned muscle and brawn. He certainly hasn't been idle since being tossed onto the streets.

It is also obvious that he loathes me, not that I blame him. My association with his father has painted me as a scarlet woman, and it has been a role I have had no choice but to embrace.

I had gone to great lengths to ingratiate myself to the Alpha, to intrigue him, and ensure he wanted to spend time in my company. Much to my chagrin, however, our relationship had been on public display for much of the time we were together, which had been a little over two months.

Most married men prefer to keep their liaisons secret, but for some reason, Alpha Wolf ford felt the need to boast. Perhaps because he was nearing the ripe old age of sixty and wanted it known that he still had it within him to attract the attention of a much younger woman. He has squired me around the city as though he didn’t have a mate and grown children to embarrass. His behavior had always baffled me, but because of it, his elder son has now made an appearance at my door.

I had guessed at his preference for scotch, had seen the flash of irritation cross his features, and knew I had gotten it right. I wonder what else regarding him I might guess correctly if given the opportunity. Figuring things out about people is one of my strong suits, has been ever since I was a child.

My mother spent a good bit of time whipping the devil out of me when I was a wee one, although I never fully understood what I had done to deserve the punishment. I began to suspect it was the manner in which I struggled to make sense of the world, the way I focused intently on anything or anyone I found puzzling until I was able to fit what I knew into some semblance of order that put all my questions to rest.

A priest who visited my mother far too often when my father was away; a sweets shop owner who paid far more attention to boys than girls; an inordinate number of children in the village who so closely resembled the eldest son who lived in the large pack house on the hill.

From my father, I learned to be observant. Whenever he wasn't off fighting for queen and country, he would take me on strolls and periodically question me about our surroundings. What color was the dress worn by the blond-haired girl with the ringlets who had just gone into the bakery with her mother? How many boys were crouched and playing marbles in the alleyway we had passed a minute ago?

Once, when I was eight, he took me into a toy shop in Blackrock City to purchase me a doll. I was mesmerized by all the choices, finally finding the porcelain one I wanted more than I wanted to breathe when my father suddenly knelt beside me and said, "The shop is on fire. People were crowding through the door, and now they are stuck. How do we get out?"

We weren't in danger. There were no flames, but his urgency had my heart racing. I was expected to know the answer, didn't want to disappoint him. He was one of our countries heroes, but more importantly, he was mine. "Through a window. And if it won't open, we will throw something at it to break the glass, so we can climb out."

"What if we get cut?" He asked.

"Better than getting burned to death." I had pointed out.

With a grin, he rubbed my head. "So which dolly would you like to have?"

The doll wearing a fancy pink dress and a large bonnet adorned with flowers went everywhere with me through the years and now sits on a corner of my vanity. It serves as a reminder to always have an escape plan in case danger arrives. And danger has arrived, in the form of Dimos Softpaw. Yet the very last thing I was thinking about while he was in my parlor was escaping.

Light footsteps sound just before my butler steps into the room and hovers slightly beyond the threshold. "I lost him."

"How far did he allow you to follow him?" I ask.

"He didn't allow it." He says, sounding confused.

I give him a small smile. "Without a doubt he did, Brewster, or you wouldn't have lost him when he was of a mind to end the farce that he didn't know you were about."

My assistant, more than a butler, is extremely skilled at tracking but has never been particularly talented at hiding his disgruntlement when I have the right of a situation at hand. "Only a couple of miles or so. Moved at a bloody quick pace, though. Fair wore me out. I caught a taxi back after he disappeared."

"Hmm. Farther than I would have thought." Although he may have done it out of spite. "I don't suppose he left you with an impression as to where he was going."

"He seemed to do a lot of circling and backtracking. For a while there, I thought he was lost." He admits.

A man such as Dimos Softpaw never becomes lost. I will wager all I own on that.

"What are you going to do about him?" Brewster asks.

"I haven't decided." I say with a sigh.

But I am fairly certain we haven't seen the last of each other.