Page 38 of Wishing for a Werewolf
If only I could get soap sales up, we’d have more of acushion. But people want pretty things for Christmas presents, not your run-of-the-mill soaps. As nice as our lavender and peppermint soaps are, the bars are completely undecorated, and the packaging is… well, it’s effing boring, is what it is.
One thing at a time, Autumn, I remind myself. One thing at a time.
“You ready to run again?”
“Yes!” Babybelle squirms in my arms, her little body coming to life. The second I open the door, she springs down and gallops away with high hops. Looking back over her shoulder, she yells, “Catch me if you can!”
Laughing, I give chase, making a game of it all the way back to the red barn.
Where there’s nobody waiting.
“Huh.” I peek inside to find the earlier chaos replaced by towering stacks of hay bales all neatly lined up on one side of the barn. Back outside, I take off for the south pasture, where the goat barn stands. It’s away from the main house mostly because our billy goat, Limburger, smells absolutely rank during rut. Trust me—no one wants to be anywhere near the stench this boy produces. No one but the girl goats, that is.
“Hello, hello, hello!” Babybelle bleats, racing in circles around the larger goats.
The girls all perk up from their slow graze, ambling toward me, looking for treats.
“Sorry, Brie. Sorry, Gouda. No goat cookies or acorns this time.” I come to a halt and hold out my hands to show they’re empty before giving them each anear scratch. Cheddar pushes forward and lips at the end of my sleeve, and I pull it out of her mouth with a laugh. “You’re as bad as Babybelle!”
Mozzarella, one of this year’s kids, gambols over, and I make sure to give her special attention.
After one last round of pats, I start running again, ready to get out of the drizzle and get these letters posted.
The tractor trailer sits in front of the goat barn, and I arrive in time to watch Rune offload the last few bales of hay, his big body still moving easily, as if carrying two-hundred pounds isnothing. God, it’s effing hot. Especially when those forearms of his flex like it’s an Olympic sport and he’s going for the gold.
Which makes horny Autumn wake up all over again. My heart starts pounding harder, and I try to convince myself it’s all from the run, but the tingling low in my stomach shows I’m lying.
I follow him into the barn to find Mom, Dad, and Steve stacking the bales high with another of our pulley systems. Mom waves me over, shooting what she thinks is a surreptitious look at Rune, but she’s about as subtle as a hammer, so her voice carries. “Who is this young man, Autumn? And does he want a job?”
“Don’t let Steve hear you say that,” I whisper-hiss. “You know how hard it is to find experienced farm help around here.”
It’s part of the labor drain Ferndale Falls has experienced over the last several years—young people needing to move away to find work. Getting the town’s finances turned around because of an influx of fae and Faerie gold—andnot the trick kind—is great, but it’s going to take a while to start attracting more humans to move here. Steve’s a godsend and no joke.
“This is Rune. We’re working together on the fall festival.” I pull out the letters and raise my voice. “In fact, I have good news.”
Rune drops the last two bales on the lift, and Dad winches them up to Steve, who’s on a ladder so he can direct the rectangular blocks into place. Once they’re all done, we gather in the open space in front of the milking stalls.
“With the help of Rune—” I tip my head toward him. “—our farm is going to host the hay maze this year!”
I expect happy smiles and congratulations that we finally got it, but instead, I’m met with uncertain looks.
“This means the hayrides will bring people out to the farm. We can set up a table with soap samples and make a little petting zoo to get the kids excited about the goats.”
“Autumn,” Dad says in that cautious tone of voice he always uses these days. His tanned face seems more lined than even a year ago, and they’re worry lines, not ones from a life lived outdoors. His sandy-brown hair also holds a lot more gray. When did Dad get so old? “I don’t think we can put on the hay maze.”
“What do you mean? Nana and Pop ran it every year when I was little.”
“The farm did better back then. We were still making milk and cheese. We still had four farmhands to help.” He glances at Steve. “No offense.”
“None taken. I’m great, but there’s no way I can match the work of four people.”
Hurt and confusion whirl in my chest. “But…” Oh, god, I have to say something to convince them, but what? They haven’t accepted anything new I’ve wanted to try over the last few years. It’s actually kind of amazing that they switched the farm over from being a dairy to soap production ten years ago, but that change was fueled by pure desperation. Downsizing the herd and staff and focusing on a less labor-intensive product was the only way to save the farm.
“What Autumn’s trying to say is you won’t be doing it alone.” Rune doesn’t raise his voice, but its deep rumble still fills the entire barn. “You’ll have me and my pack.”
I widen my eyes at him. “Humans don’t say pack,” I whisper under my breath, knowing he’ll hear.
“I mean my family,” Rune says.
