Page 1 of Horned to be Wild
CHAPTER ONE
This is Rose Cottage?
Lila stared at her recently inherited property in dismay. The name had always conjured up images of a charming little cottage with roses around the door, not a dilapidated house half-hidden behind a curtain of overgrown vines and untamed bushes. While there were roses mixed in with the other vines covering the facade, late-blooming summer roses that filled the air with their scent, that was where the charm ended.
Mr. Southhill, the courtly satyr lawyer handling the estate, had told her that the cottage had been left empty when Great Aunt Eleanor moved to a nursing home. Lila hadn’t known about the move—but then again, she hadn’t really known much about her great aunt at all. She’d never even met her in person. Eleanor had sent her Christmas and birthday cards every year for as long as she could remember, always including a brief note in her elegant, cursive writing. But the notes were witty—and frequently acerbic—tales about the town and its residents, never about herself, and Lila’s occasional suggestion that she might visit had been completely ignored.
Unfortunately she hadn’t realized the amount of damage two years of neglect could cause. Peeling paint flaked from the weathered siding, the porch sagged dangerously in the middle, and weeds had overtaken what must have once been a pretty front garden. The cottage did have good bones—a wide front porch behind the curtain of vines and some exquisite gingerbread details—but it clearly needed a lot of work. She’d hoped that her savings and the modest bequest which had accompanied the house would be enough to support her while she focused on her artist business, but if the cottage needed substantial repairs it wouldn’t last long.
Maybe it’s not as bad as it looks, she thought, trying for her usual optimism as she climbed out of her car and forced the door closed. Her “new” car was an ancient, worn-out vehicle with rust around the wheel wells, but she’d driven it all the way from New York city to Harmony Glen without any problems. Thank goodness she’d left both the city and her ex behind.
Her efforts to believe that Jeremy’s constant criticism of her art, her weight, and her ambitions was intended to be helpful were already stretched to the limit, but his reaction to her inheritance had been the last straw.
“You’ll sell it, of course,” he said complacently. “Despite its less than desirable location, it should fetch enough to make a nice little addition to our house fund.”
“First of all, I haven’t agreed to move in with you,” she said, gritting her teeth, but he waved a dismissive hand.
“Don’t be silly, darling. Of course you will.”
“And second, what do you mean by an undesirable location? Great Aunt Eleanor always said that Harmony Falls was a charming little town in her notes.”
“Charming? Don’t you realize it’s one of thosemixedtowns?” His mouth pursed as if he were sucking on a lemon.
“Mixed?”
Not surprisingly, he paid no attention to the dangerous note in her voice.
“You know—monsters and humans living together.”
Monsterwas the generic term for anyone who wasn’t completely human, and she glared at him.
“And you know that Etta has fairy blood, don’t you?”
Since he’d never liked her best friend, it probably wasn’t the best argument, but he simply waved his hand again.
“At least she looks human other than that ridiculous hair. I’m talking full on monsters—orcs and minotaurs and God knows what else.”
She’d stood there looking at the smug superiority on his face and she’d finally accepted that it was over. Not that he’d believed her, of course, but with Etta’s enthusiastic support, she’d ignored his attempts to win her back. She’d spent the last two months resigning from her job, wrapping up her lease, and putting most of her belongings in storage. And when she’d finally left the city, she felt a sense of freedom she hadn’t felt in years.
If a ramshackle cottage was the price of that freedom, it was one she was willing to pay.
As she picked her way through the tall grass towards the sagging porch, a cool breeze rustled through the trees, the crisp scent of pine mingling with the sweetness of the roses. Despite the cottage’s condition, the setting was undeniably beautiful. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the dense forest behind the cottage, dappling the overgrown yard with pools of golden light.
Before risking the porch steps, she paused to look around. On the other side of the road, there were several streets that she knew led into the small downtown area of Harmony Glen, but she couldn’t really see the town from here. She only hoped that her impression of the town wasn’t as misleading as her impression of the cottage. On the right side of the cottage a rutted dirt track disappeared into the woods, and another small house was barely visible through the trees on the left. A bird trilled somewhere in the woods, the only sound interrupting the peaceful silence, and her positive outlook began to return. Surely she’d be able to make this work. After all, the inside could be in perfect shape. She just needed to apply a little elbow grease to the exterior.
She almost tripped on the cracked bottom step, then carefully made her way up the remaining steps, staying close to the edge and testing each one before she stepped on it. The porch was almost as rickety as the steps, creaking ominously as she crossed to the ornately carved front door. The stained glass panel in the upper half was coated with grime and the wood was in desperate need of cleaning and polishing, but she could see the elegant lines behind the dirt.
Reaching into her oversized tote, she found the old-fashioned key Mr. Southhill had given her and inserted it into the engraved brass lock, half expecting it to stick. Instead, it turned easily and the door creaked open with a mournful sigh to reveal a spacioushallway with an arched opening to the kitchen at the rear. The cottage smelled of dust and roses, but the ceilings were high and the wooden floors were in surprisingly good condition.
“Home sweet home,” she whispered, the words hanging in the musty air.
She flicked the light switch to the right of the door and a dusty chandelier flickered to life above her. Half the bulbs were burnt out but at least she had power. Thankfully Mr. Southhill had kept his promise to have the utilities turned on.
On one side of the hallway, a wide cased opening led to an old-fashioned front parlor with heavy curtains drawn over the windows and the furniture draped in yellowing sheets. Sliding doors at the back of the opened to reveal a large dining room. She pulled back the curtains from the tall windows and light flooded into the room despite the overgrown bushes outside.
This will make a perfect painting studio, she thought delightedly, and the butler’s pantry between the dining room and the old-fashioned kitchen would be a perfect place to organize her supplies. The kitchen had an ancient refrigerator and a cast iron stove that looked older than Lila, but when she cautiously opened the refrigerator door, cold air wafted out and the water from the old-fashioned faucet ran cool and clear. A row of windows along the back wall looked out into the jungle that had once been the backyard.
The bathroom was equally old-fashioned, but everything worked and the big clawfoot tub just needed a good clean. The front bedroom opposite the parlor had more tall windows, and she stripped off the sheets to reveal sturdy carved oak furniture. The second bedroom had been used for storage and was piled with a cluttered assortment of objects.
