Of course, her screams brought more Wolves running, so plenty of Wolves saw those body parts—and wanted to know more about the thatch of fur between her legs and under her arms. Were those things that should be present on the females when they shifted to human form?

They were still waiting for Meg Corbyn and her pack to answer that question.

But it wasn’t fair to growl at him for responding the way he had. How was he supposed to know that sound had been singing? It hadn’t sounded like any human singing that he’d heard. In fact, it sounded more like a young Lynx whose paw had gotten trapped in some rocks. Which was why he’d thought Hope was in trouble.

Jackson knocked again and heard a timid, “Come in.” He stepped into the room, leaving the door open.

“Enough, pup,” he said. “Grace and I don’t mind if you draw every day, but not all day. The pack’s nanny is taking the pups for a walk, and you’re going with them. Get your shoes and your hat.”

“I lost my hat,” Hope mumbled.

Meaning the pups “accidentally” got hold of the hat and tore it to pieces. “Grace bought you another one.” Several, in fact.

He studied her. She usually obeyed, but she’d been a bit odd since the vision drawing she’d done of the dead bison. Since she continued drawing instead of putting her things away, he came over and crouched beside her.

“I’m making sketches of cards Meg will need,” Hope said.

Not finished drawings. Rough compared to her usual work. “Why does Meg need these?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you going to make the final drawings?”

She shook her head.

When the pencil stopped moving on the paper, he knew she was done, drained of whatever she needed to reveal. “Go outside, pup. Breathe in the good air. Play with the other pups.” He noticed the corner of another drawing that had slipped under her bed. “What’s that?”

Silence. Then Hope sighed and pulled the drawing from under the bed and handed it to him. “Are you going to leave forever?”

“I wasn’t planning to leave,” he replied as he studied the overlapping images. He was the Wolf herding ten... no, eleven... young bison. Then, in the center of the page, a train, its engine heading east through the grasslands of the Midwest. Then Talulah Falls, distinctive and unmistakable, and those houses she had drawn once before. The last piece of the picture was of him and Simon herding the bison.

“You wouldn’t leave Grace, would you?”

“I wouldn’t leave either of you. But I might have to make a trip to Lakeside.” He took the drawing and pulled her to her feet as he rose. “Outside. Walk, play, study the creek.”

She blinked. “Study the creek?”