Page 21 of Horned to be Wild
“The grain’s tricky here,” he explained, his voice low. “Needs a careful touch.”
He felt her lean closer, the warmth of her body radiating against his back. “Show me?”
Without thinking, he shifted, making room for her beside him. His hand engulfed hers as he guided her fingers over the half-formed carving. “Feel that? That’s where the wood wants to split.”
Her fingers were warm beneath his, delicate yet strong. Artist’s hands. She nodded, her ponytail brushing his arm. “You’re working with it, not against it.”
“Always,” he agreed, suddenly aware of how close she was, how perfectly she fit against his side. He couldn’t quite prevent a sigh of regret when she moved away again.
The next few days tell into a satisfying rhythm. She arrived every morning with coffee and breakfast, and they’d discuss any ideas they’d come up with overnight. Then she’d focus on the canvases she’d prepared while he worked on the doorframes. He’d never realized how enjoyable it could be to have someone else around—someone to exchange ideas with, someone who understood when he pointed out a new detail he’d added. The fact that she sought out his advice as well thrilled him. It felt like… a partnership.
They’d work together most of the day, then share a simple dinner. Sometimes he cooked, sometimes she did, movingaround his kitchen as though she belonged there. Each evening it was harder to let her leave.
Her comment about her pleasure haunted him and he slowly started testing his control, cupping the heavy weight of her breast as he kissed her goodnight, or pulling her onto his lap as they studied a detail in one of her sketches. She always came to him willingly and even though he knew she wanted more, she let him set the pace.
Then on the fifth day, as a gentle rain pattered against the workshop roof, Mabel made her move.
He’d been so focused on the intricate leaf pattern he was carving that he hadn’t noticed the goat slip in through the partially open door. His first warning was Lila’s sudden gasp.
He looked up just in time to see Mabel, with a gleam of pure mischief in her eyes, rear up and head-butt the shelving unit where he stored cans of paint.
“Mabel, no?—!”
His warning came too late. The shelf rocked, and in horrifying slow motion, five cans of brightly colored paint tipped over, cascading their contents across the floor, splattering in all directions.
Primary colors exploded across the workshop—a vibrant blue streak across Lila’s cheek, a splash of yellow down his arm, red pooling on the floor between them. For a frozen moment, they both stared at the chaos, at each other, and at the unrepentant goat who seemed enormously pleased with her handiwork.
Then she laughed—bright, uninhibited, joyous laughter that seemed to fill every corner of his workshop.
He stared at her as she wiped at the blue streak on her face, only managing to smear it further across her skin.
“Your face,” she gasped between bursts of laughter. “You look like you’re going to faint!”
He blinked, feeling the tension drain from his shoulders. The paints were water-based, easily cleaned up. The wood he’d been carving was safely out of the splash zone. And Lila… Lila was laughing, her eyes bright with mirth, looking at him not with annoyance but with shared amusement.
A chuckle, rusty and unfamiliar, rumbled up from his chest.
“Mabel,” he said, trying to sound stern even as another chuckle escaped him, “you are a menace.”
The goat bleated cheerfully and pranced out the door, mission accomplished.
Lila’s laughter subsided into giggles as she surveyed the colorful disaster. “Well, at least it’s a creative mess. Very Jackson Pollock.”
He snorted, moving to grab some rags. “Not exactly what I had in mind for our project.”
“I don’t know,” she said, bending to swipe a finger through a puddle of blue paint. Before he realized her intention, she straightened and dabbed the paint squarely on the tip of his nose. “I think it suits you.”
He froze, staring down at her impish smile, at the playful challenge in her eyes. Something long dormant stirred within him—a playfulness he’d buried so deeply he’d forgotten it existed.
Slowly, deliberately, he dipped his own finger into a splash of red paint. “That so?”
Her eyes widened, a delighted grin spreading across her face as she backed away. “Don’t you dare!”
“Seems only fair,” he growled playfully, advancing on her with the paint-laden finger. “An eye for an eye. A smudge for a smudge.”
She shrieked with laughter, darting around the workbench. “That’s not how that saying goes!”
“Close enough.”
