Taking the Bull by the Horns

by Chant, Zoe

  Taking the Bull by the Horns

  Zoe Chant

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  A Note From Zoe Chant

  More Paranormal Romance by Zoe Chant

  Chapter 1

  “You here for the aliens, miss?”

  Tora Kingston frowned. Firstly, because she felt she’d reached the point in life where she at least warranted a ma’am rather than a miss. But also because –

  “The, uh, the aliens?”

  “That’s right, miss – real-life, bona fide aliens! Seen ’em with my own eyes.”

  The old man behind the convenience store counter – where Tora had only stopped because she’d run out of water over the course of her long, long drive – slapped a flyer down in front of her, nodding encouragingly.

  Tora looked down at it, more to be polite than anything else. It had obviously been hastily put together, the word ALIENS???!!! plastered across the top in huge lettering, with a very blurry photo underneath it that could have been anything, from, Tora supposed, aliens, to the inexpert photo she’d taken of the candles on her mother’s sixtieth birthday cake last year.

  Tora let her eyes drift over the text that accompanied the photo, but to be honest, she couldn’t really say she believed in aliens.

  “Uh, no,” she said, smiling politely and putting her bottle of water down on the counter next to the flyer. “I just came up here for a bit of R&R. I didn’t know about the, uh, the aliens.”

  “If you’re staying up in the hills, you ought to be careful of ’em, miss,” the old man said, certainly sounding very serious about it. “That’s where they’ve been spotted – the flashing lights of the alien craft. You never know what they might be doing up there. Looking for victims to subject to their unearthly experiments, I bet.”

  “Oh. Right. Well, I’ll… certainly keep that in mind,” Tora said, nodding. Honestly, was this some kind of prank? She’d grown up in a small town like this one – she knew about town jokes that sometimes got out of hand.

  Looking at the man behind the counter, though, Tora had the feeling that he was being one hundred per cent in earnest.

  “I’ll just get the water and then I’ll be on my way,” Tora said. She really wanted to get to her little cabin – which was indeed in the hills – and stop talking about aliens. She didn’t want to be rude, but she also didn’t want to get roped into any conspiracy theory talk. It just wasn’t her scene at all.

  “That’ll be a buck fifty for you, miss,” the old man said with a wink. “And take the flyer. Read up about what’s been going on. You never know, it might save your life.”

  “Well, I’ll remember that. Thank you for the discount,” Tora said, paying for her water and picking up both it and the flyer from the counter. It just seemed easier to take it, and the man had given her a discount. She could always use it for kindling for her cabin’s fireplace. He’d never know.

  She shivered as she stepped out of the shop and into the biting fall winds. It’d been a long drive out here to Robson Hills, and she’d been driving since dawn. She was used to early mornings, though, as it’d all been part of her training routine as a pro athlete – or the pro athlete she would have become, if only a knee injury hadn’t wrecked any chance she had of ever making it in the career she’d been training her whole life for.

  She’d been the track and field star of her junior high and high schools, headhunted by athletics programs from more colleges than she could count, and it was all she’d ever really wanted to do.

  She was a runner. She ran. It’d been pretty easy to forget about her troubles – her father’s job, or lack thereof, her mother’s failing restaurant – when she was sailing over a hurdle or belting full speed down the track, leaving her competitors far behind her.

  Well, that’s all over now, Tora thought viciously, opening her car door and climbing inside, before slamming it shut behind her. It was bizarre, how little it took: one wrong landing after jumping a hurdle. One stupid attempt to get back up and keep running – since she’d been winning – and then one further fall, and that had been the end. Meniscal cartilage didn’t heal, and that was what Tora had torn.

  Sure, there were all kinds of experimental treatments going on in Switzerland and other cutting-edge places for that kind of thing, but those were expensive. Those were for athletes who’d already established themselves and were known drawcards, who were valuable enough to their trainers and sponsors that it was worth them forking out the big bucks to try anything to get them back to fighting fit form.

  Tora had only been a newcomer – a potential star, rather than an actual one. And while her sponsors had been willing to pay for her knee rehab up to a point, once it’d become clear it was never going to be what it had been, they’d quietly withdrawn their finances.

  And now I’m here, Tora thought, trying – and kind of failing, really – not to feel bitter about it. I’m here because my coach told me to come take some time out to reassess and figure out where I want to go from here.

  Which meant, probably, that her athletics career was no longer going anywhere. They were just trying to find a way to break it to her gently, and let her figure it out on her own.

  Tora could at least rely on her coach, Sammy, for that. He was, in many ways, the hardest taskmaster Tora had ever known – he had to be, to be coaching at such an elite level. But he was also compassionate when it counted, and she knew he was just as devastated as she was about what had happened with her knee.

  Take some time, Sammy had said. There’s some money in your training budget for rest and recovery – find somewhere away from all of this and get your head in order. Maybe things’ll seem clearer after that. Sport isn’t everything, Tora, and you’re still young. You can do anything you set your mind to.

  It was true, Tora thought as she started her car. Sure, she might feel old – at least old enough that men in convenience stores should call her ma’am! – but she wasn’t. Not yet. Even if she was having to spend every waking moment right now fighting against the overwhelming sense that her life was already over, and she had no idea where to go from here.

  Once Sammy had told her to get away, Tora had done just that: she’d found the tiniest, most isolated little cabin she could, and booked it for a week and a half’s stay. There was nothing around here but a small collection of shops (which called themselves the township of Robson Hills), and the vast, open fields of the ranches that surrounded them.

  And one little cabin, all for me.

  Well, and some aliens. Apparently. Tora hadn’t been counting on those, but then, she supposed, since they were fictional, she really didn’t have too much to worry about on that score.

  The last part of the drive went quickly. She turned off the main road and down a winding dirt track, slowly wending her way up into the forested hills. She’d have a great view from up there, of both the fields below and the endless blue of the sky – well, provided those rainclouds blew off in the other direction, Tora thought, staring at them where they were gathering, dark and ominous, on the horizon.

  But if it did turn out to be a rainy day, well, she’d just start up the fireplace and sit on the couch and read one of the dozens of books she hadn’t had time to sit down with over the past few years. Tora couldn’t remember the last time she’d read a work of fiction, as opposed to a training handbook or a nutrition guide or a motivational book.

  She turned down an even smaller dirt trail where her printed-out instructions from the cabin’s owner told her to. Turn right by the big o
ld ironwood tree, you can’t miss it – which Tora certainly couldn’t, since she’d looked up what an ironwood tree looked like.

  From there, it was only about five minutes until the cabin appeared from around a bend in the track. It was rustic, but Tora had known it would be. The photos on the – ancient! – website hadn’t made any effort to try to glam it up or anything. She’d known what she was getting into.

  Getting out of the car, Tora strode over to the front door. The key was on a hook just next to the door – which made it seem, then, to Tora, that there wasn’t much point in having a lock in the first place.

  Though obviously the owner just hung it there for me this morning, she realized a moment later, feeling foolish. And as if anyone would come all the way up here to rob a tiny cabin of its old furniture, knitted throws and 1970s refrigerator.

  The fridge was full of food, though – fresh produce, by the looks of things, plenty of eggs, cream, and two bottles of milk, one labelled COW and the other SHEEP. There was a loaf of bread wrapped in a cloth on the kitchen counter, next to a dish of bright yellow butter.

  Tora’s mouth watered just looking at it all. It wasn’t that she wasn’t allowed to eat – athletes needed their calories, after all – it was just that it’d been so long since she hadn’t had to think about what she was eating – or had even been able to prepare her own food. Everything she’d eaten since she’d been accepted into an elite training program had been so carefully weighed and measured, everything calculated down to the nth degree. It’d be fun just to cut loose and eat a non-weighed slice of bread, with a non-weighed hunk of butter spread across the top of it.

  Oh, God, maybe even some jam, I’d love some jam…

  And, thankfully, of course there was jam – jars and jars of it in the pantry, obviously homemade and unlabeled, but right now, Tora didn’t care.

  No time like the present!

  Cheerfully, she carved off a chunk of bread with a serrated knife, then smeared a truly decadent amount of butter across it. She selected a red-colored jam and opened the jar.

  Raspberry, she thought, after smelling it.

  On it went.

  Then she took a big, big bite.

  Oh my God, I’m in heaven.

  Tora closed her eyes, letting herself feel the bliss in her mouth. Just for a second, it was easy to forget the tatters her life and her dreams were in, and why she’d even come out to this cabin in the first place.

  Nothing mattered except this freaking jam.

  And the homemade bread and butter. It was, seriously, beyond delicious.

  But who made all this stuff?

  Tora turned, her eyes falling on a piece of paper sitting on the kitchen counter, which she hadn’t noticed in her haste to get to the fridge. Still chewing, she lifted it up to read the note written on it.

  Hey there,

  Hope you enjoy your stay here. Fridge is stocked, but if you need anything else, just call – there’s a phone with my number written on the receiver in the hall. If for some reason I’m not there, just head down to the convenience store and say you’re staying here, they’ll add it to my tab.

  Feel free to look around – there’s nothing but open pastures and forests, but don’t stray from the paths, it’s easy to get lost. Also, if you come to a locked gate, don’t open it, they can be tricky and I can’t let my animals get loose. Plus, you never know what you’re going to encounter in these paddocks! Could be a flock of lambs, could be an ornery bull. Be careful!

  There’s a bicycle in the shed around the side. Use it if you don’t feel like driving. Though it might be a little bit of a bumpy ride. Roads around here aren’t what they could be.

  Anyway, that’s all from me – have fun, and just call if you need anything.

  W. A.

  Tora finished her bread and jam as she read the note with its neat, all-caps, block-lettered handwriting. She didn’t know who W. A. was – the owner of the cabin, obviously, but there’d been no name on the website she’d booked through.

  A bike? she thought, before going to the front door and sticking her head out. Sure enough, there it was – an old rusty thing with a huge basket on the front, but definitely rideable.

  Riding was one of the few forms of exercise she’d still been able to do while she’d been recovering – it was pretty easy on the knees, after all, while still being a decent cardio workout.

  But that had been on stationary exercise bikes. She hadn’t ridden on an actual bike bike since she’d been a little girl. Tora felt something flutter in her chest at the idea of it. There was just something inherently carefree and youthful about riding a bike, especially down a country track.

  Well, what the hell, she thought, glancing at the sky.

  She’d spent the whole morning cooped up in a car, and those rainclouds weren’t getting any farther away.

  She could always read her books later.

  * * *

  This, Tora thought half an hour later, was not one of my better ideas.

  It turned out riding a bike down a country track was only inherently carefree and youthful if the skies didn’t open up fifteen minutes after you set out, soaking you to the bone with a torrential downpour. There was nothing particularly carefree about riding a rickety old bicycle down something that was not so much a country track as a potholed morass of mud and stones.

  Ugh. C’mon. You’ve trained come wind, rain, hail or shine, Tora thought, gritting her teeth and pushing onwards, forcing the bike’s wheels through the sticky mud. This was nothing compared to what she’d had to endure in the past!

  Still, ugh, she thought again, as the bike splashed through a puddle, coating her lower legs – since she’d rolled her track pants up over her calves in an attempt to keep them at least somewhat clean – with dirty brown water.

  She’d just reached the bend in the road that would take her back to her little cabin when she heard it, somehow, over the roar of the rain pouring down: a plaintive little bleat, like a cry for help.

  Tora looked around, squinting through the rain. Had she really heard that, or had it just been her imagination?

  She’d almost decided it was just her ears playing tricks on her when she heard it again – the same lonesome, little bleating sound, almost like a little lost lamb.

  Or, Tora thought, staring, as a little lost lamb stumbled out onto the track in front of her, exactly like that.

  The lamb was clearly a young one, and soaked to the bone by the rain, not to mention covered in mud. It blinked mournfully at Tora for a second or so, before opening its mouth to bleat again.

  “Hey there,” Tora said uncertainly. “Did you lose your mommy?”

  The lamb, as expected, didn’t answer her – not in so many words, anyway. It just kind of trotted over to her, bleating and trying, ineffectively, to shake itself dry. Tora wasn’t sure what to do – she had very little experience of farm animals. Should she touch it? Would its mother reject it if it smelled her on it? Or was that birds? Or had that been debunked?!

  One thing was for sure, though: Tora knew there was no way she could just cycle off and leave the adorable thing here in the rain. A quick glance around the fields revealed no close-by flock of sheep that she could return the little lamb to.

  So… I guess you’re coming with me, she thought. Somehow.

  The lamb was clearly used to people – it didn’t seem to have any issue with Tora awkwardly leaning down to scoop it up in her arms after she’d put the kickstand of her bike down. It stopped bleating, anyway, and looked up at her with large, long-eyelashed, heartbreakingly trusting eyes.

  Tora felt her heart melting just a little bit.

  But, okay, how to ride while holding an adorable little lamb?

  Tora dithered a moment, wondering if she could hold the lamb in one hand and steer the bike with the other, but that turned out to be a disaster which almost ended with them both face-down in the mud.

  “All right then, little baby – you’re just going to have t
o sit still a little while,” Tora told the lamb, before trying to lower it carefully into the bicycle’s basket.

  The lamb was clearly not a big fan of this idea.

  It kicked out, bleating at the loss of the safe, warm chest it had been pressed against. Maybe it would have accepted things a little more easily if there’d been a blanket or something in the basket, but there was only the hard wire frame.

  “Okay, please, please, baby, just work with me here,” Tora said desperately as the lamb kicked out its adorable legs – which ended with adorable little hooves – and refused once again to be put into the basket.

  Maybe I’ll just have to leave the bike here, Tora thought, biting her lip. She hated to do it, since it was already well-used and rusty and leaving it out in the rain certainly wouldn’t improve its condition, but right now, she couldn’t see any other way to –

  “You seem like you might need some help.”

  Tora jumped, almost letting out a little shriek of surprise.

  Blinking the rain out of her eyes, she looked up – and up – and found herself staring into the most beautiful pair of olive eyes she’d ever seen in her life.

  Oh. Okay.

  Tora was tall – she was used to being the tallest person in the room, including the men, most of the time. But the man whose eyes she was currently staring into was a good head and a half taller still – not to mention broad. He was, sensibly, wearing some kind of heavy-duty raincoat that the rain was just sliding right off, but that did nothing to disguise the breadth of his shoulders.

  And besides the coat, he was wearing a hat – also sensible, Tora thought vaguely – wide-brimmed so the rain just dripped off its edges, instead of into his face. So instead of looking soggy and miserable, like she did, he still looked golden, sun-kissed – and perfectly dry. So she was completely free to appreciate the sharp cut of his jaw, the long, noble line of his nose, and the aforementioned gorgeous olive eyes.