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“Yay!” Wren and Flame cheered, shaking their instruments while Acer and Bowie squealed and waved theirs, babbles and giggles spilling from them as they joined in the celebration.

“I think this will be good for him,” Roark said once they’d reached the kitchen.

Rusty took a cutting board off the hook on the wall and brought it to the counter along with an onion. Sundays had been declared extended family days. It was one of the few times when the two houses didn’t intermingle until supper. Having Flame over today meant that he wouldn’t feel like he needed to put on a performance for the rest of the guys. Rusty knew that it would take time for his brother to relax around them too, but he was finally beginning to believe that Flame would get there.

Acer’s loud screech was followed by the sound of beans rattling in gords. Rusty figured that they must have started the video.

“Remember when we made drums out of old coffee cans in music class?” Roark asked.

“That was the first thing I thought of when Wren brought those instruments home,” Rusty replied, “so I snagged five cans when I was at the market the other day and some glass containers to empty the coffee into so we could make some with Wren. That way all the pups will have one. I’ll carve the drumsticks.”

“Got the bug again, didn’t you?” Roark said while they worked on the meal.

“Soon as that piece of wood was back in my hands,” Rusty admitted.

“Never understood why you gave it up in the first place.”

“Never intended to. One day I just stopped picking up interesting pieces of wood. I guess because I couldn’t see the beauty inside of them any longer. Not after all the ugliness we kept stumbling into.”

“I’m glad you can see it again. The beauty in the wood and all the possibilities. I always loved watching you peel the bark off and study what was underneath. You’d scowl, flip it around, the tip of your tongue poking out as you rotated it, mumbling to yourself the whole time. Sometimes you’d grumble things too, like long prickles or short, when you were trying to decide whether to carve a hedgehog or a porcupine.”

“Thought you were reading?”

“I was, in between listening to you. It never got old. Just like that won’t.”

Laughter, giggles, then Acer’s voice babbling along to the tune while the rest of them shook their instruments.

“It sure won’t,” Rusty replied.

He’d finished chopping the onions and bacon before moving on to prepare a protein to go with the vegetables. They had fresh mushrooms from the greenhouse big enough to stuff. Ground mutton, goat cheese…he pulled ingredients out and lined them up on the counter until he had everything he needed, hips shaking to the rhythm of the instruments the entire time.

He wasn’t the only one affected by the beat. Roark did a one-man conga as he moved around the room, prompting Rusty to clean his hands off so he could snap a few pictures. He crept back to the doorway of the den and took several of Flame and the pups engrossed in the video, shaking their instruments along with the puppets on the screen. He sent them to Logan, knowing his mate wouldn’t be able to check his phone until he was on break. For those brief moments, he’d have a beautiful reminder of why his division was fighting so hard to ensure the safety of all shifters, not just the ones lucky enough to be born into a strong, healthy pack.

Rusty knew better than most that even the wolves who were that lucky didn’t always have it easy. He and his brother were prime examples of that. Home was supposed to be a safe space for pups.

“I think making drums is an awesome idea,” Roark said. “But why’d you stop at five? Why not eleven? Then we could all have one.”

“First off, I’d have gutted the shelf at the market if I’d bought that many at once,” Rusty explained. “Wolves were already side-eyeing me when I had five in my cart, since the constant snowfall has made it impossible for supply trucks to reach these mountains, as you well know. Secondly…I didn’t think about it.”

“Should have led with that one,” Roark said, pointing a wooden spoon at him. “But I hear you about supplies.”

“I sent half the coffee next door after I emptied the canisters,” Rusty said.

“How the hell did I miss you bringing that much coffee in here?” Roark asked. “I’d have made mocha cupcakes and coffee mousse.”

“Nuthin’ stopping you. I’ll whip up vanilla bean versions for the pups and we’ll be all set.”

“Think Flame will want to stay for supper?”

Rusty showed him the pictures he’d taken of Flame and the pups. “I think we might need a cannon to blast him out of here at the end of the night.”

“Or we could pull the couch out for him and let him crash here so he can have more pup time in the morning,” Roark offered.

“If he’s good with it, I’m good with it,” Rusty replied. “Judging from what I saw in there, the pups will be good with it, too. He asked me how he should answer when Wren was complaining about lima beans.”

“I saw him look at you but thought you’d warned him to watch his language,” Roark replied.

“Naa, I did that on the way in and promptly dropped a couple of curses myself that he called me out on,” Rusty admitted.