Sweet Wild of Mine

by Laurel Kerr

  “There was a man who hoarded them that lived about forty minutes from here,” Bowie said. “No one else would take them, so we got stuck with the whole herd.”

  Magnus grunted. A couple young kids bleated as they bounced around the pen, their hind legs kicking into the air as they practiced bucking. They were deceptively cute.

  “Kind?” Magnus barked out. He would have asked about the breed, but he didn’t want to risk getting stuck on the b. The beasties didn’t look like any goats he’d seen before. Their eyes were more prominent.

  Bowie chuckled. “Let me demonstrate.” He grabbed the gate and gave it a hard slam. The metal clanged loudly, but that wasn’t what startled Magnus. It was what happened next. Some goats toppled onto their sides, their legs stiff and straight. The bairns and juveniles lolled on their backs, looking like someone had knocked over a taxidermy display. A few of the adults hopped forward, their joints locked. Magnus scratched his head as he watched the odd scene unfold.

  “Fuck me.”

  “They’re fainting goats,” Bowie said. “They’ve got a genetic disorder that causes their muscles to spasm when they’re frightened, startled, or just overexcited. It doesn’t hurt them. They’ll be up and running in a couple seconds.”

  “Odd creatures,” Magnus said as he watched the goats scramble to their feet and then bolt as if Auld Clootie himself was after them.

  “You can say that again,” Bowie said. “They’re the zoo’s current white elephant. We don’t have barnyard animals, but most of the goats were in bad shape, and I couldn’t turn them away. I thought I’d make this exhibit a petting zoo, but the children are either scared when the goats flop over, or they try to frighten the poor guys on purpose. I’m still trying to figure out what to do with them.”

  “Supper?” Magnus offered helpfully.

  Bowie laughed and shook his head. “I wouldn’t have the heart.”

  “They’d be tough auld bastards,” Magnus said.

  “Most likely,” Bowie agreed as they walked around the paddock to an equally befuddling sight. The next enclosure looked like an empty ten-foot-deep swimming pool, but with red dirt instead of cement for a bottom. Two separate sheds were erected at opposite ends. Unlike the other pens, this one was relatively barren with only a few balls and other small toys.

  “This is the home of our two resident honey badgers,” Bowie said. “They make the goats look personable, but we love Honey and Fluffy all the same.”

  Magnus looked at Bowie questioningly. Orkney did not have badgers, but mainland Scotland did. He’d never heard them referred to as honey badgers, though.

  “They’re from Africa,” Bowie explained, “and they’re more closely related to weasels than the badgers you have back in Britain. They’ve got similar coloration to the true badger but are meaner. They kill cobras…for fun. Their skin is so thick, snake venom doesn’t always kill them, but just temporarily knocks them out. They’re smart and extremely devious.”

  Now that would make good fodder for his book. Magnus leaned over the fence as he tried to peer into the shelter. He still couldn’t get a glimpse of the beasties.

  “Fluffy and Honey are nocturnal,” Bowie said, “but don’t worry. You’ll get a glimpse of them. Honey-badger wrangling will be a big part of your job…and cleaning up their messes. They escape at least once a week.”

  “From there?” Magnus asked in surprise, jerking his thumb toward the dirt run surrounded by sheer concrete walls.

  Bowie nodded glumly. “Yep. They’re smart. Too smart. I thought if I found a mate for Fluffy—that’s our male—he might settle down. Now, I’ve got two of them running around, and Fluffy is ornerier than ever. Honey is always pestering him, and I think he blames me. If Fluffy escapes, my daughter, Abby, can coax him back to the enclosure. Honey won’t listen to anyone, even though she used to be kept as a pet. Luckily, she normally returns to her den on her own.”

  “They’re not a friendly species then?” Magnus asked.

  Bowie shook his head. “Nope. In the wild, honey badgers are solitary, although the cubs do stay with their mother for over a year. The adults only interact to mate. There’s evidence, though, of honey badgers getting along in captivity. Luckily, Honey and Fluffy haven’t physically fought each other, but they’re not exactly on good terms. Fluffy’s definitely not happy with the invader to his home.”

  Magnus glanced back at the small shed in the center of the red dust. He could sympathize with the unseen Fluffy. After all, he had his own meddlesome female to contend with.

  * * *

  Fluffy did not appreciate the intruder to his domain. At all.

  He ruled this zoo, not this interloper. Yet Honey insisted on escaping. Every. Single. Night.

  Evening was his time to roam. It wasn’t nearly as interesting to cause mischief when she’d already beaten him to it. Yesterday, he’d gone to rip open a feed bag to discover Honey had already strewn the contents over the storage-room floor. Having the food readily available had taken all the fun out of eating it…well, most of the fun. He was a honey badger with an appetite after all. And although Fluffy would never ever admit it, the female mustelid was slightly—just slightly—better at getting into the cabinet containing the honey-covered larvae.

  But he was blamed for the mess.

  Females, Fluffy had decided, were nothing but trouble.

  * * *

  “I want all the details you know on Magnus Gray,” June demanded as her best friend carefully climbed onto a stool in her kitchen.

  “Uh-uh,” Katie Wilson said, shaking her red curls emphatically as she placed her hands on the slight bulge of her tummy, “I’m just here to try out the jams you said you were making to help with my morning sickness.”

  June turned and pulled out the batch of jelly that she’d whipped up the night before especially for Katie. A few years ago, she’d started a jam business in addition to her tea shop. She’d been building her customer base slowly, starting at farmers’ markets and then local grocery stores. A year ago, the Prairie Dog Café had begun putting her jams on their tables and selling jars at the checkout counter. Just last month, the gift shop at nearby Rocky Ridge National Park had ordered its fourth shipment. Online sales, which had grown slowly at first, had picked up late last summer and hadn’t stopped. Between the tea shop and jam sales, she’d had enough money to hire more help both in the kitchen and out front.

  In August, June had put her business degree to use and drawn up plans for increasing production. She’d considered applying for a loan to lease a small facility. Then Nan’s episodes had started, and June had shelved those ideas until she understood more about her grandmother’s condition. Between getting up before dawn to start the baking, managing the tea shop, making jam, and developing new recipes, she was already running in more directions than a long-tailed cat at a square dance. She couldn’t take on both a major expansion of her jam enterprise and her gran’s health problems. And Nan came first.

  Which was why June had lured Katie to her kitchen with the promise of jam. The girl would do anything for a sugary treat, and that was before she’d started eating for three. If June wanted to sweet-talk the grumpiest Scot ever to walk God’s green earth, she needed all the reconnaissance she could gather. Despite the man’s fame as an author, her internet sleuthing had unearthed only that Magnus was notoriously reclusive. And that she’d already figured out on her own. Right now, her quarry was working with her best friend’s husband. If anyone knew anything, it would be Katie or Bowie, and June had been perfecting the art of getting secrets out of Katie since college. Although she could crack Bowie open like a nut too, that would take more time and finesse, and June didn’t like to wait.

  “So, what did you make me?” Katie asked eagerly as she rested her elbows on the counter.

  “I started with fresh mint and ginger,” June said. “Then I sweetened it with the honey f
rom Lawson’s Apiary. Since it’s thoroughly cooked, it won’t hurt those little butter beans growing inside you. It needed texture so I studded it with bits of candied ginger.”

  “Gimme.” Katie reached out both hands and wiggled her fingers.

  June held the bowl out of reach. “Magnus intel first.”

  Katie’s brown irises went doe-eyed. “You wouldn’t keep food away from a pregnant woman, would you?”

  “I was raised by a career military man and a southern belle,” June replied. “I could strategize before I could walk, and I don’t take prisoners.”

  Losing the sweet look, Katie crossed her arms and gave a mock glare. “You’re mean.”

  “I prefer ‘incorrigible.’ Now spill.”

  Katie sighed and leaned back in her chair. “There is nothing to spill. I’ve barely met the man. Every time I run into him, he just grunts and goes back to whatever he was doing.”

  June sent Katie an exasperated look. “Sweetie, have I taught you nothing? I need dirt.”

  Katie’s cherubic face softened into pure innocence again. June immediately recognized the look. After all, she was the one who’d perfected it.

  “And I need jam,” Katie said. “Maybe if my stomach was full I might be able to remember details about Magnus.”

  June arched an eyebrow. “Is this a ploy?”

  Katie’s expression remained guileless…too guileless. “Feed me, and you’ll find out.”

  “Hmmm.” June relented as she placed the jam on the table and gave Katie a day-old biscuit from the tea shop leftovers. “On second thought, maybe I taught you too much.”

  “I learned from the best.” Katie took a tentative bite of the jam-covered biscuit. Then another. Then an even bigger one. She paused for a moment, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. Then, in her typical straightforward way, she said, “Well, it doesn’t make me want to hurl.”

  “Now there’s a slogan if I’ve ever heard one,” June said. Katie drew all the labels for June’s products and helped with marketing.

  Katie laughed. “Right now, if there was a line of food products called ‘No-Vomit Vitals for Pregnant Ladies,’ I’d empty the entire supermarket shelf.”

  June wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think that’s quite the image I want.”

  Katie shrugged and returned to eating. “Talking about questionable monikers, I wish morning sickness only happened in the actual morning. These hormones are killing me.”

  June patted her hand in sympathy. “But in less than seven months, you’ll have two little babies to love.”

  “That’s what I keep telling myself. It doesn’t help that I’m showing and it isn’t even the second trimester.”

  “Bowie seems happier than a possum eating a sweet potato.”

  A fond smile crossed Katie’s face. “He’s already started turning the attic into a nursery and playroom. It’s a good thing we have a full-time volunteer right now.”

  June rested both her elbows against the counter. She knew she was grinning like a raccoon after it raided the larder. “And about that particular volunteer…”

  Katie waved her half-eaten biscuit. “Nope. Not going there.”

  June sighed. “Katie, I need some way to butter the man up. It would do Nan a world of good to talk to him.”

  “Why don’t you just ask him?” Katie said. “He seems like someone who would appreciate a direct approach.”

  “See,” June said. “Was that so bad? This is exactly the kind of information I need.”

  Katie put jam on the other half of her biscuit. “So, you’re going to walk up to him and ask?”

  “Goodness no.” June waved her hand. “The man has already bolted from me twice. This requires finesse. What does he like? Maybe I should make him a batch of my scones. Men always like baked goods, even grumpy galoots. What do you think?”

  “Ginger-Minted Bliss,” Katie said.

  June blinked at the non sequitur. “Pardon?”

  Katie jabbed her knife in the direction of the jam. “That’s what we should call it. I can see the label now. I can sketch a pregnant lady, her hands on her belly, a satisfied smile on her face. What do you think?”

  “That you’re trying to distract me.”

  Katie sighed and put her knife down firmly on the counter. “June, you know me. I am good at marketing. I am not good at winding men around my little finger. That’s your department.”

  June exhaled loudly and rested her chin on her hands as she leaned on the counter. “But this man isn’t reacting like all the others. The more I try to charm him, the more he runs.”

  Katie laughed. “Welcome to the reality of most women.”

  “You’re certain you don’t know anything?”

  Katie shook her head, sending her red curls flying. “June, Magnus has only been in town for a few days, and he keeps to himself. Bowie says he’s a hard worker, but he doesn’t talk much. He seems to have a natural affinity with animals, if that helps.”

  “So, you’re saying if I were another species, he’d be more inclined to chat with me.” June originally meant the words as a joke, but as soon as she spoke, the truth rose up like cream separating from milk. Maybe the Scot preferred animals to people because he didn’t have trouble speaking around them. Her brother had always been able to talk to the family dog without any signs of disfluency. Although it wasn’t the case for all people who stuttered, August spoke more fluently when he was around people he felt comfortable with.

  June grinned. Why, that was it! She just needed to show Magnus that he could be at ease with her and her grandmother. And the only way to do that was to keep running into the man, hopefully with Nan in tow.

  “Uh-oh,” Katie said, “I know that smile.”

  June didn’t even bother to remove it from her face. “Katie, when is that adorable polar bear cub due to arrive? You know how much Nan and I adore animals, especially the cuddly ones.”

  “June…” Katie said, a warning note in her voice.

  But June kept right on beaming. Winning over a bear of a man might just take one adorable cub and a grandmother who loved the Isles.

  Chapter 3

  Magnus hadn’t expected an audience for the arrival of the polar bear cub. Yet there the lass stood, like some fae creature come to play tricks on mortals. When he’d entered the maintenance facility, she’d waved like they were best mates at primary school. He’d nodded once, hoping that would satisfy her. It didn’t work.

  “Hi there,” the lass said as she moved from the picture window overlooking the nursery. They were congregated in the hallway so they wouldn’t overwhelm the cub. It would be enough for the wee bairn to get accustomed to her new surroundings without a flock of humans looming over her.

  Magnus dipped his chin in acknowledgment of her greeting. Part of him wanted to leave, but he didn’t want to miss this. An unusual excitement hummed through him. It had been more than five years since he’d last held a cub, and after working with the animals here in Sagebrush, he’d realized how much he missed it. It was hard work raising a bear from a wee bairn but rewarding too. There was something about how they clambered about, searching for a warm place to lie or a spot of milk.

  “Did Bowie or Katie tell you the good news?”

  Magnus gave a slight shake of his head. The lass didn’t need any more encouragement. She beamed as brightly as the harvest moon.

  “I’m going to help with the cub. Well, we will. My grandmother and I.”

  Fuck. Bowie had mentioned they had some local volunteers. When Bowie had run through the list of names, Magnus had thought the name June Winters sounded familiar, but it also had a natural ring. The lass must have introduced herself at some point, or he’d read it on her tea shop’s website.

  “Come and meet my nan,” June said. She reached forward and grabbed his arm. The contact seared him, the h
eat sending his heart into an erratic rhythm. He debated about shaking June off, but her grandmother looked up at that moment. A smile creased the older woman’s face, and Magnus couldn’t simply walk away. His da might not have managed to control him as much as the old bastard had wanted, but some of the lessons had stuck. A man respected his elders.

  “Pleased to meet you,” the woman said in a posh English accent after June introduced her as Clara Winters. Magnus hid his surprise as he shook the woman’s hand. Although he’d read on the tea shop’s website that the owner’s grandmother was from the UK, it was still jarring for a Yank to have a proper British nana.

  “It’s an honor,” Magnus said carefully. As a lad, he’d spent hours talking to the cows, practicing general greetings over and over. He’d figured out which ones came out the easiest, and he stuck to those. He often felt like he was using a damn script, but it was better than getting mired by a word.

  “Your first two books were lovely,” the woman told him. Magnus didn’t miss the fact she purposely excluded his later works. He might not appreciate being exiled to Sagebrush Flats, but his editor wasn’t wrong. The public considered his latest efforts pure rubbish.

  Magnus took the half compliment and bobbed his head.

  “Did my Junie tell you I lived in Orkney during the war?”

  Magnus froze, suddenly feeling like a vole being stalked by a gull. Baws. He was an unlucky bastard. Here he was in the middle of the American desert, and he’d bloody run into someone from the Isles.

  Magnus shook his head. He didn’t trust himself to speak properly.

  The woman’s face softened into a fond, almost wistful smile, and Magnus fought back a groan. She clearly wanted to reminisce about a place Magnus had spent years trying to forget.

  “I was fifteen when the Blitz began,” the woman said, her eyes clouding. “Those were terrible days in London.”