Free His Wicked Dream (Velvet Lies, Book 2) by Adrienne deWolfe Page B

all his apparent weakness, Collie gripped that bowie knife with the efficiency of a veteran butcher.
    "If you don't like pie," she improvised, trying to recall what else in the store might appeal to a half-starved, wild manchild, "I've got tapioca pudding. And there're apples, canned peaches, licorice, and venison jerky. If you like, I can warm up some Arbuckles in the coffeepot—"
    "Cats is just fine."
    "Oh."
    Eden bit her lip. Although virtually helpless in the boy's fist, Stazzie nevertheless resumed her struggles, doing her valiant best to damage Collie's eardrums with her caterwauling.
    "Are you sure?" Eden had to raise her voice. "I mean, I should think killing, skinning, and cooking a cat would be a bit troublesome. Compared to a nice plump chicken leg and an oozing slab of cherry pie."
    Collie's tongue darted across his bottom lip. Then, as if recognizing his weakness, he gave her an even fiercer glare.
    "You got any potato salad?"
    "Well... no. But I have some deviled eggs. Will they do?"
    "I dunno..."
    "It wouldn't take but a moment to fetch them," she added.
    Collie knitted tawny brows. "No tricks?"
    "Of course not."
    "You swear?"
    Eden blinked, appalled that anyone, much less a child, should have to barter for meals. "I swear."
    "'Cause if you don't got pie," he threatened, flicking the knife tip with his thumb, "it's gonna be kitty cat steaks fer the next coupla meals."
    "Collie," she assured him quietly, "I'm happy to give you any food I have."
    He started when she used his name. Jaw jutting, he looked her up and down.
    "You ain't from any danged orphanage, are you?"
    "No." She kept her voice soft. "Why would you think that?"
    "'Cause that's the only kind around these parts who wants to help me. 'Cept fer Sera, of course."
    "You mean Sera Jones?"
    The distrust had crept back into his eyes. "Mebbe."
    "I know Sera, too. She's my neighbor."
    He harrumphed.
    "It sounds like you and I have the same friend."
    He said nothing.
    She tried another tactic. "My name's Eden."
    "So?"
    A wave of warmth rolled up her face. So much for social pleasantries. Bless the child, was he always this hostile? She hated to think what had happened in his young life to harden him this way.
    "I just thought you'd want to know. Because if you like the pie enough," she hinted broadly, "you might want to come calling at my house for more."
    "Well, I can't know how much I like anything if you keep jawin' at me all day, now can I?"
    "That's true." She hid her smile. "Wait here."
    "Nuthin' doin'. I'm coming too. No tricks, ya hear?" He gave Stazzie a menacing shake.
    "No tricks," she murmured.
    Ferocious and stiff, he stalked after her through the curtain, Stazzie dangling impotently from his fist. He planted his back to the front door, still wielding his knife like a buccaneer, but as he stood before the licorice, it was a child's longing that stared out of those silvery eyes.
    "You can have as much candy as you like," she called over her shoulder.
    "Yeah?" He edged closer, seemed to remember his hands were full, and halted. "How come?"
    She shrugged. "You want some, don't you?"
    He hesitated.
    "I said you could have any food you wanted."
    His brows snapped together. "How come you're being nice to me?"
    "Shouldn't I be?"
    He fidgeted, his gaze riveted now on the pristine, golden crust she was lifting from the picnic basket.
    "I was gonna eat your cat," he reminded her grudgingly.
    "But you're not now, are you?" She skirted the counter to stand before him with her offering.
    "I reckon not."
    He dropped Stazzie, who bolted like lightning for the calico display.
    Eden focused all the warmth of her smile on the boy. Like a wild animal, he shifted from foot to foot, torn between yearning and distrust. She could almost feel how much it cost him to yield the first step. Then the second. Finally, he stood quivering before her, his heart beating so hard, she could see the flutter of his gingham shirt.
    "You can cut it yourself, if you like," she said