Chapter 10

10

I t felt wrong to leave Tiny Paws without Franzi, but the little girl didn't seem to mind that Logan was going away without her. His assurances that he would be back to get her soon were shrugged off as Franzi squatted to play dolls with her new self-proclaimed unicorn friend. Logan had never heard of a unicorn shifter, but he supposed it was possible.

Logan caught himself watching for traffic hazards as he walked the way he never had before, and several times automatically reached for a little shadow that wasn't there.

Our filly is fine, his stallion said carelessly. We can frolic without her for a while!

But there was more work to do before there was time for frolicking. Logan left his truck in its hard-won parking place and walked to the shop he'd talked to on the phone. It was a busy place, and loud, but after watching from the open bay for a few minutes, he was convinced that it was working like a well-oiled machine, pun intended.

"You got a car, you can pull up to any open bay and we'll work you in when we can," one of the technicians working under a big van called to him. "We're a little shorthanded today, so it might be a bit of a wait!"

"I'm here to see Mason," Logan called back. "I talked to him on the phone about a job."

The technician wiped his hands on his shop-branded apron and Logan got a tingle of instinct as he left the car to come shake Logan's hand. This man was a shifter, too.

"I'm Mason."

Logan greatly approved of a boss that did his own grunt work. The handshake itself was a test, and there was a little flicker of recognition between them as Logan felt a wave of relief. He was in the right place at the right time.

"While this beast drains its oil, I'll have a look over your resume and ask some questions," Mason said, leading him into the office.

Logan gave him the fresh-printed copy.

Well, fresh except for the red jam fingerprints that Franzi had helpfully left in the margins. Logan hadn't had time to find a place to reprint it; it wasn't sticky now, but it was slightly tinted.

Mason's big fingers left new oil stains on it anyway. "Some gaps here," he observed mildly.

It's a trap! his stallion shrieked unnecessarily. Logan wasn't sure if he was reacting to instinct, or to Mason's shifter presence. Sometimes his stallion got twitchy about predators. Instinct was sizzling, pressing on him to be…Logan tried to analyze the impulse. He knew that if he mis-stepped here, he'd be shooting down his whole plan. When he thought about using one of the carefully crafted stories that he usually used, there was a twang of misgiving.

"I had a footloose life of crime and passion," he said frankly. "My brother's daughter got orphaned and now I'm going straight and making a life to support her. "

His stallion wasn't convinced that was the right answer, but Mason only raised an eyebrow. "Any felonies?"

"Nothing they could pin on me," Logan said with absolute honesty.

Mason gave a bark of laughter. "This your legal name?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why an auto shop instead of a bagger or a burger flipper?"

Logan's stallion gave a snort of outrage at the idea.

"Union opportunities," Logan said. "I got a little girl to get through college now. And I have a knack with machinery."

"You know you'd be starting as a scrub, right? It would be oil changes and tire switch outs for minimum wage until you'd worked up to a mentorship." Mason had brown eyes that were almost gold and they were assessing him with an unsettling directness.

"Everyone starts somewhere," Logan agreed, stifling his horse's wordless protest about their stolen dignity. "I'm not too proud to get dirty and I learn fast."

"If I run a background check and call these references, that going to be a problem?"

"Probably not a deal breaker," Logan said mildly. "Nothing they can tell you that I wouldn't."

Mason settled back in his chair. "Instinct suggests that I give you a chance," he said, glancing at his open door. "I could use another set of hands around here, and shifter strength is an asset. Anything else I should know?"

"I'll need weekends off for my second job," Logan said.

That got him a shout of laughter, then Mason sobered. "You mean that?"

"College is expensive," Logan said. "And I've got debts to settle. "

Mason regarded him across the table and appeared to be having a conversation in his own head. "I think you'll fit in here," he said with a nod. "We'll do a month on trial and see what you pick up. Come in tomorrow at eight."

As they both stood, Logan reached out to shake his hand. "I appreciate it."

We should be the one in charge, his stallion complained as Logan left. We are better than anyone else at everything.

Your towering ego doesn't pay the bills , Logan pointed out.

His next stop was the general store, because corned beef hash and saltines with jam didn't satisfy all the food groups.

He stood in the aisle and stared at the array of kids' food in consternation. Everything was brightly packaged and screamed of health and flavor and favorite cartoon characters. Did Franzi like Disney princess applesauce or My Little Pony cheese sticks? Were they better than the generic branded ones?

After filling his cart, Logan did math and then did a lap of the store putting things back. He still needed to get her some new clothes and a few toys. He could do without sheets for a while longer, probably, and he could subsist on noodles and ketchup even if he wanted to get the organic sauce for Franzi. A cheap set of non-toxic paints and a pad of paper were deemed critical.

His stallion had distracting opinions about everything, insisting on only the best; he had a shaky understanding of money or the street value of kids shoes, but he was sure that a filly of theirs was entitled to the top shelf.

"She's four ," Logan told him under his breath. "She doesn't care if her pants are Gucci as long as they are pink." At least, Logan hoped she liked pink, because most of her wardrobe was, and apparently most of the current options for girl's clothing. He reluctantly put back a dozen full-priced outfits and vowed to find the secondhand store that Tabby had mentioned.

To his surprise, both at the general store and the charity store, Hand-Me-Down, he ran into shifters, defying the population density that he had described to Tabby. He met their eyes and gave a little nod of recognition, then pushed his cart past them.

Hand-Me-Down was a treasure trove, with an array of furniture in stages of disrepair. Logan took some measurements with his hands to check when they got home, but resisted the cherry bookshelf. It was a little out of his budget, and he'd gotten rid of most of his books several moves ago anyway. But didn't Franzi need a place to store her toys? Her room wasn't big enough for the toy chest he found, with an adorable cartoon town map hand-painted on the top that was perfect for staging adventures, but he had to buy the wooden rocking horse that was hiding behind it. It would need a good sanding and paint job, but it was cheap, and too apt.

Our filly's filly! his horse chortled.

He tucked the rocking horse into the back of the truck with the groceries and went to pick up Franzi.