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“I was considering it,” she says.

“Consider after your heat.”

She tilts her face up at me. “You’re very bossy this morning.”

“Our alpha is near rut,” Ezra says.

The words makes her lips part. Her scent floods the gazebo.

Ezra’s eyes move between us. “I don’t think my explanation calmed the situation.”

Pepper’s thighs press together beneath her skirt. “Not remotely.”

I close the notebook. “Time to go.”

She laughs as I lift her, but her arms curl around my neck without protest. The pleased little purr against my chest makes every muscle in my body lock around the urge to carry her somewhere private and give her anything she asks for.

Her mouth brushes my throat.

“Little rabbit.”

“I’m resting.”

“Your mouth isn’t.”

“It’s being affectionate.”

Ezra follows us with the breakfast tray. “I support.”

I carry Pepper into the house before either of them encourages the other.

The attic is warmer now, even with the window open. I close the curtain on the sunny side, angle the fan toward the mattress, and replace the melted ice in Pepper’s bottle. She settles into the nest with her blue blanket around her waist and Ezra’s hoodie under one arm. I set pretzels, sliced peaches, and the stone on the low trunk within reach.

Pepper looks at the stone. I move it to the far side of the trunk.

Her eyes narrow. “I was only looking.”

“You look with your hands.”

“That is how field biology works.”

“Rest first.”

She opens her mouth, then loses the argument to a yawn.

Ezra sits beside her and tucks the blanket around her legs. “Compelling argument.”

Pepper catches my hand before I can stand. “You should rest too.”

“I have a few things to check.”

“You cooked, carried me, took pictures, and prevented a canoe expedition.”

“There was no expedition.”

“There was intent,” Ezra says.

Pepper squeezes my fingers. “Rest after.”