How was she going to explain all of what happened to Mom? She was already suspicious, and who could blame her? A month ago, Morgan had been living in a tiny house in a bad part of town, and now she was shacked up in a ranch mansion and getting married on a week’s notice to boot. She’d already answered the shotgun wedding question at least ten times, and then the rehearsal dinner goes down in flames? It was damage control time. The sound of laughter vibrated against the bones of the house as it rang through the first floor. The wedding attendees were enjoying a huge breakfast around the island. Apparently, all tension from last night had escaped with the first rays of light. It seemed today wasn’t one to be ruined by the stubbornness of power hungry werewolves. Mom dropped a set of red oven mitts and rushed to hug her. “Oh, Morgan! Are you alright, honey? Rachel and the boys told me about the coyote. Wade said it was rabid, and he had to give you a shot, and let me see that.”
