Page 37 of Wishing for a Werewolf
“I can do that.” I nod toward the two men. “I’ll get the hay into the barn, and they can arrange it as they like.”
“You’d do that?” Hope warms her eyes, her lower lip trembling the tiniest bit.
That tremblekillsme, my heart pinching in my chest. Autumn should be fire, a force of nature, not trembling and uncertain like this. It says everything about her and all the burdens she’s been carrying for far too long.
“Go write the letters, my fire.” As I let go of her shoulders, my fingers can’t help brushing over a coil of red hair that’s escaped her bun, its softness bewitching.
“My fire?” she repeats, her voice soft with wonder.
Goddess, I said that out loud.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Autumn
Rune’s eyes widen for a moment. Then he springs into action without explaining the phrase, leaping up onto the bed of the tractor trailer and picking up a hay bale with each arm.
I tell Dad and Steve the new plan. They’ll help Mom move and stack everything inside the soap barn.
When we’re lucky, our alfalfa hay gets delivered on a sunny day, and we can leave it outside and slowly move it into both barns over the course of a week. We’ve already shoved all the soap drying racks and storage bins over to one side, but we can’t fit half the hay in here without stacking it high using a pulley to lift the bales, and that takes time. Time we don’t have in the rain. The goat barn is the same, with only half the space available for hay, the rest taken up by milking machines and goat pens.
It was situation FUBAR until Rune showed up.
Oh, god, watching the werewolf toss around one-hundred-pound hay bales like they weigh nothing is the porniest forearm pornever. And shoulder porn, and back porn, and all the porns, because that soaking wet Henley isn’t hiding a single damned thing.
He catches me standing in the rain, horny Autumn in full control of my body as I watch him like a star-struck teen eyeing her movie-star crush. Rune’s lips twitch, showing off the tips of his fangs, and he rumbles, “The letters?”
“Right!” I snap into motion, whirling around to hide my heating cheeks, knowing they must be boiling red.
Babybelle races from the barn, gamboling around Rune’s legs with mischievous hops. “I’m coming, too!”
“How’d you get out of the pasture?” I ask. But even as the words leave my lips, I know it’s a pointless question. My familiar conquered the goat-proof fence yet again. I take off running, my sneakers squelching across the backyard. “Come on, then!”
Babybelle zips in front of me and butts at the door to the cottage, her tail flicking with impatience. “Hurry! I want to be dry!”
“Yes, little miss,” I puff as I finally catch up to her and swing open the front door.
She gallops into the entryway and shakes like a dog, water flying out from her in a shower of droplets.
“Hey, stop that!” I fling my arms up to protect my face. “I was going to dry you with a towel!”
“I can’t help it.” The skin on her back twitches. “I’m going to do it again!” And she does, shaking another splatter of water across me and the hardwood floor before hoppingforward with a happy bleat. “I feel better!”
“I’m glad someone does,” I say. “Because that towel is now mopping up the water on the floor.”
She laughs her baaing goat laugh and clatters down the hallway. I blot my face and hair, then spread the towel across the wet floor. Once I’m dry enough not to drip all over my laptop, I type and print our acceptance letters, seal them in a plastic bag, and tuck it under my shirt.
When I return to the entryway, Babybelle lies beside the towel, dutifully chewing on one of my slippers. “See!” She leaps to her feet. “I was good. I wanted to chew the towel, but I remembered what I promised!”
I gather her up for a cuddle, giving her soft forehead a kiss. “Thank you.” It seems Rune was right—it’s better to channel her inherent nature than to fight against it.
She butts her head under my chin, rubbing across my jaw. Then she falls limp in my arms, relaxing against me like a toy whose batteries just ran out. “Naptime?”
“Sorry, sweetie. Not today. We’ve got to get the hay stored.”
“Why don’t you do it with magic?” Her amber eyes look at me beseechingly. “Make a wish, and then we can have a nap.”
I laugh and shake my head. “I need a lot more practice with my magic before I use it on something important. That hay needs to feed you and the other goats all winter long.” And if I messed up and ruined the hay, it would take the farm’s entire emergency fund to replace it, leaving us heading into our leanest season without anything to fall back on.
