Her mother, bless her heart, had always known when her children were in trouble even if her empathic abilities weren't as strong as her daughter's.
"Fine, Mom. Jo is just hurt." She rose, jerking a dish towel from the counter to apply pressure to the wound.
Leaning close to the animal, she cradled his head as the decrease in adrenaline began to leave her weak.
"He'll be fine until they get here."
"You're sure?" Her mother wasn't fooled. She had been waiting on Meg's call, proof that her father and grandfather left the house at a dead run.
Her grandfather would have known something was wrong as well. He said the winds spoke to him of her. She shook her head at the thought. Empathy ran on her grandmother's side. She had never been certain what ran on her grandfather's, but Megan knew it was just as powerful as the talents she possessed, if not more so.
"I'm sure, Mom. I love you but I have to go now."
She disconnected the phone before staring up at Braden.
He was watching her with concern, and she realized she was definitely going to be stuck with him. Lance would not let this little event pass without having a stroke, or at the least without calling the whole damned family in.
"You know, Braden, we're really not going to get along. As a matter of fact, I don't even think I'm going to like you."
She turned away from him before he could speak, the sound of a vehicle pulling up in the drive drawing her attention. She moved to the back door, breathing a sigh of relief as her father and grandfather moved quickly from the truck and headed for the house.
"You okay Meg?'Her father hugged her tightly.
"I'm fine. Mo-Jo is down though. He took a knife to his underbelly." She was shaking, trying to avoid her father's gaze and the concern that always made her feel smothered.
Her father was dressed in his customary jeans but wore a dress shirt and silver string tie, indicating he had been preparing to go out for the evening. His thick black hair was peppered with gray, his black eyes hard and probing as he moved through the kitchen to the hall entrance and glanced over at Lance.
"It looks pretty deep, Dad,'' she sighed, staring at her grandfather in resignation as she let him help her up and lead her to a kitchen chair.
"Uncle Dave, meet Braden Arness," she heard Lance mutter from the hall.
She was aware of Braden watching her, his head tilted, taking in every movement, every expression, as he watched the scene before him. But even more, that calm that was so much a part of him weaved around her as well, sheltering her. A girl could get used to that. Too used to it. It would be a bitch when it was gone again.
His eyes were questioning, almost confused, as her grandfather, stooped with age and shuffling from his stiff joints, patted her on the shoulder.
"You sit still, little warrior. I'll fix you tea." His voice was filled with concern, his weathered expression lined with worry.
"Coffee."
"Tea," her father and grandfather spoke firmly.
She grimaced. The tea wouldn't even be caffeinated.
Despite their calm, she sensed the fear. She didn't feel it, thankfully. But she sensed it thickening the air around her.
"What happened here, Lance?" Her father was bent over Mo-Jo, a small, black medical bag at his side as he checked the wound.
"Why are you asking him? He wasn't here." She hated the protective coddling she could feel beginning to wrap around her. Why hadn't they just brought her mother along with them? That would have finished up the wool wrapping nicely.
Her father glanced back at her, and for a second she glimpsed a fury and fear that she knew shouldn't have shocked her. Yet it did, because she only sensed it, she didn't feel it. It wasn't washing over her in blinding waves or taking her breath. She also noticed Braden had moved closer to her, making it easier for her to pull that shield around her.
"Because I'm tending a wound to your animal that could have been inflicted on you." He didn't snap at her, but she could feel the anger vibrating from him. "I don't know if my nerves can stand hearing a report from you, Daughter."
Her shoulders drooped. How did you battle that kind of love, dammit?
"I don't know what happened, Uncle," Lance finally answered. "I was bringing Braden Arness here to talk to her. We walked in as Mo-Jo was ripping out a throat."
"And what of yesterday?' her grandfather asked then. "The winds blew through the land with a warning, her name echoing on the breeze."
Megan wanted to groan. "You guys are smothering me."
Braden leaned against the wall, watching it all, never speaking. Sexy and silent. Okay, so he had a few things going for him.
"Get used to it." Her father's voice brooked no refusal. "Until I leave this world, you are still my daughter and still under my protection."
"Protect Lance." She waved her hand at her smirking cousin. "He's in more danger than I am if he keeps pissing me off. Share the love, Dad."
Her father only snorted as he applied a thick coating of skin repair to Mo Jo's underbelly.
"The dog will be fine." He closed the bottle of fleshsimulating latex and returned it to his bag. "The wound wasn't too deep; he's just a big baby." He patted the dog's head before filling a syringe and injecting it into the thick shoulder muscle. "There, something to ease the soreness. He'll be good as new in a few days. We'll take him back to the clinic and put him on some antibiotics to be certain."