Page 8 of What a Wolf's Heart Decides

“So,” he said, “how do you feel about finding a husband?”

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Haley’s smile froze. For a second, she wasn’t sure she heard Max correctly.

Because he’d just asked her how she felt about a husband.

Right?

A laugh built in her chest. He couldn’t have said that. Her hearing wasn’t as good as she thought. Maybe some of her latency still lingered. That would explain a lot of—

“Haley?” A hint of alarm entered Max’s expression. “Are you all right?”

She realized she was still smiling at him like an idiot. “Uh . . .” She cleared her throat and tried to arrange her features into something normal looking. “Sorry. It’s just that I thought you asked how I feel about finding a husband.”

“I did.”

“You did?”

“Yes. I did.” He leaned forward and snagged a piece of paper she hadn’t noticed before. “I received a letter from the mother of one of our past trainees.”

“His mother?”

Max kept his gaze on the paper. “He’s one of the latents Lizette Turned.” He glanced up. “So you have that in common.”

“In common?”

“The mother says here he’s been unable to find a mate despite making the Turn and developing a strong Gift. She says it’s been four years since he Turned.” He grunted and dropped his voice to a mutter. “It doesn’t help that they live in the Washington Territory.”

“Washington?”

Max looked up, a frown wrinkling his normally smooth forehead. Still holding the paper, he leaned back in his chair. “You’re repeating everything I say.”

“I am?” Shit, he was right. She shook herself. “I don’t understand. What does this have to do with me?”

“I should think that would be obvious.” He waved the paper. “A mother wants her son mated. He’s struggling to find possible matches. You’re single and, if I’m not mistaken, looking.” At that, he raised an eyebrow. “Am I mistaken?”

Her cheeks heated, and she had to look down. His gaze was too discerning. Good grief, did everyone in the Lodge know about her pitiful love life? She heard herself mumble, “I’m not desperate.”

“I didn’t say that, and I don’t think that.”

She dared a glance at him. “Other people do.” The rejections she’d experienced over the past hour roared back, and tears burned her throat. “It’s like I have the plague.”

There was a scraping sound, then Max’s jeans-covered legs appeared at the bottom of her vision. He leaned on the edge of the desk in front of her, and when he spoke his voice was as gentle as she’d ever heard it.

“You don’t have the plague, ma belle. Far from it. My territory is richer for having you in it.”

That brought her head up. “You mean it?” He’d always seemed so exasperated by her. Although, he seemed exasperated by a lot of the younger wolves.

His smile touched his eyes, which grew warmer despite their light color. “Of course I do. You . . .” He gestured, clearly searching for a word—something he usually did before using an English idiom. He snapped his fingers. “You keep me on my toes.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

“It is. Especially for an Alpha.” He raised his eyebrows. “People in power need to be checked on occasion. Remy used to relish that role. Then he met Sophie and settled down. Someone had to take over the job of chief troublemaker.”

The affection in his voice was obvious, so she returned his smile. “Just so you know, he hasn’t entirely abandoned his trouble-making ways.”

“Believe me, I’m aware. He’s changed the background image on my laptop three times this week.”

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