Clay caught my arm. “No lifting, remember?”

I was reasonably sure you couldn’t damage a fetus the size of a pea by lifting a patio chair, especially not when werewolf strength made it the equivalent of picking up a plate. Yet when I looked over at Jeremy, he busied himself unloading his revolvers.

Since I’d first decided to try for a baby, Jeremy had read just about every book ever written on pregnancy. The problem was that no matter how many books Jeremy read, he couldn’t be sure they applied to me. Female werewolves were very rare. For one to bear a child, even to a human father, was a thing of legend. Two werewolves reproducing? Never happened. Or, if it had, there was no record of it, and certainly no maternity guides.

So we were being careful. Some of us more than others. Not that I disagreed. Not…really. After all, it was only nine months. I could handle not picking up lawn chairs for a while. It was the “not doing anything at all” part that was driving me nuts.

I could argue that I’d just Changed into a wolf-surely lifting chairs wasn’t any more strenuous than that. But I knew what they’d say-that Changing was a necessary stress, and all the more reason for me to reduce all other physical activity to compensate. Remind them what I’d just done, and Jeremy would probably cancel our trip to town and replace it with an afternoon of bed rest.

“You can grab the lanterns,” Clay said finally. “But I’ll get them down.”

“Are you sure?” I said. “They are oil lamps, you know. I could set myself on fire.”

Clay hesitated.

I bit back a growl, but not before the first note escaped.

“I’m thinking of the oil,” he said. “Is it okay for you to breathe that stuff in?”

“Hmmm, you have a point. And what about the air? I caught a whiff of manure out there today. God knows what kind of drugs they’re feeding cows these days.”

“I’m just saying-”

“Clay, get the chairs. And the lanterns. Elena, I need to speak to you.”