“For what?”

“So far it’s been hybrids. Male wolf mixes.”

“Hunted?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You worried?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“Why bring in Ric?”

“It’s the kind of thing that gets him all up in arms. He’s a big believer in protecting all shifters, full-blood or mixed.” He took her hand. “That being said, I want you to be careful. At least until we know what’s going on.

You and Blayne.”

“No worries there. We’re always careful. We have no choice. I’m an O’Neill and she’s the best friend of an O’Neill. Now are we going inside to see what your uncles were talking about or are you hoping I’ll completely forget and you can totally puss out?”

Dropping her hand, Lock snarled, “Fine. Get out.”

Lock stepped from the SUV and slammed his door. He walked to the warehouse and unlocked the door, shutting off his alarm system and heading inside, assuming Gwen would follow.

Gwen stood in the doorway and gazed up at the high ceiling. The place was an old warehouse, but even in New Jersey it couldn’t be cheap to own or rent a place like this, even for storage. Which she was sure it was with all the furniture lying around.

And nice furniture, too. Really nice.

Captivated by the first thing that caught her eye, Gwen wandered over to a sweet little side table. It was made entirely of wood, and she was amazed at the craftsmanship. Gwen crouched down in front of it and ran her hand over the smooth wood.

“Well?”

She heard tone from the bear behind her, but she chose to ignore it. Besides, the more she touched the end table, the more she wanted it. “Where did you get this from?” When he didn’t answer right away, Gwen glanced over her shoulder and was surprised by how uptight he looked. “What’s wrong?” She stood, gently placing her hand on his forearm. “What’s the problem?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged and admitted, “I made it.”

Gwen looked down at the table and back at the bear. “No, seriously.”

“I am serious. I made it. And I was drawing a front door for the house. Dad’s been wanting a new one.”

Gwen reached into Lock’s back pocket and pulled out the racing form. She’d grown up looking at these and helping her own uncles with their winnings and losses. It surprised her that she and Lock had that much in common. It surprised her even more what was drawn on that racing form.

It wasn’t simply a door, as the MacRyrie bears had put it. The design was intricate, beautiful. As someone who worked with carpenters and construction people most of her life, Gwen knew when she was looking at something amazing. But could he actually create this?

Gwen stepped closer to the end tableand examined it again. Straightening, she walked down to the next piece. A rolltop desk that looked like something out of the nineteenth century but had been kept in impeccable shape. She pushed the rolltop up and then down. She studied every inch carefully.

“You did this?” she pushed, really not sure she believed him, but he looked so nervous and embarrassed, she was beginning to realize he wasn’t lying. And if he could do this, then she doubted the door would be much of a challenge for him.

“Yeah. I did.”

“This is your hobby? The woodworking you like to do?”

“Yeah.”

Momentarily speechless, she stepped to another piece. This one a long dining table that she knew her mother would kill for.

“Hobby?”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

She whirled on him. “Because hobby means whittling. Or birdhouses. Remember the birdhouses?

“You said birdhouses. I never said birdhouses.”

“It means,” she went on, ignoring him, “a badly put-together table that your friends only pull out of the garage when they know you’re coming over. This—” she gestured around the room at all the amazing pieces surrounding her “—this isn’t that.”

Without waiting for him to say anything else, she ran her hand over the dining table. It looked similar to the table in his parents’ house. No wonder he’d gotten so weird when she’d asked about it. He’d made it! And although this table had a similar style, she could see a marked difference in skill level between the two. He was growing, getting better, becoming a true artisan at his craft.

“Okay, so how much for the table?”

Lock’s head tilted to the side. “How much?”

“Yeah. Ma would love this and Christmas is coming up.”

“Uh…”

“And don’t try and out-haggle me. I’ve learned from the best.”

“I don’t haggle.”

“All right. How much then?” She gestured to herself with her hands. “Hit me with it. I can handle it.”

“Gwen…” he seemed so confused “…you can have it.”

“Have it?” Gwen looked at the table that was slowly going from Christmas gift to her mother to Christmas gift to Gwenie.

“Lock, I can’t take this. I mean you’ll lose what? Four, five grand for it? Okay, it’s true, the sex is great and all but four or five grand? That’s a lot of money for the sex to live up to.”

“I don’t mean…” He dropped his head but she saw the smile. He wasn’t laughing at her, it was a surprised smile. A smile of pure pleasure. “What I mean is I don’t sell my work. At least not yet.”