by Chant, Zoe
The scarf Judy had wrapped around her face was hot and clingy, damp with sweat and reeking of smoke. She peeled it off, wiped her face with her hand, and got her first good look at Raelynn’s father.
She’d seen before that he was a big man, both broad and tall. But now she could see his impressive musculature with clarity. He was a Viking of a man, one who looked like he could uproot trees with his bare hands and toss them across a field. His red-gold hair and short beard were bright in the sun, almost as bright as the flames he’d fought, and his strong features only added to the general impression of a warrior of old somehow transported to the present day. But his expression was kind rather than fierce, and his blue eyes held gentleness as well as strength.
Judy, who usually tried not to even think about sex on the principle that it was too frustrating to tempt herself with nice things she couldn’t have, caught herself thinking, I could climb him like a tree.
But he had a daughter. That meant he was married. Of course he was married. Kid, house, dog, wife: she knew the score.
The deep blue of his gaze caught her attention again, and made her want to be wrong. So he had a daughter. That didn’t necessarily mean he was still married, or ever married. She glanced down at his left hand. No ring. But he could have taken it off to fight the fire. Probably he’d done that. Stuffing down all thoughts of Viking-climbing, she told herself, His wife is a very lucky woman.
It was odd, though. He was staring at her like he’d never seen a middle-aged, graying, sweaty, soot-stained woman before. If she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought he was thinking about how much he’d like to be climbed.
Chapter Two
Waylon was fascinated by the woman who’d heroically rushed into danger to protect Raelynn and put out the fire, then straightforwardly insisted that they tell her the truth about the colt. She was tall, with an easy strength in her body that was echoed in her voice. A brave woman. A decisive woman. A take-no-prisoners, no-nonsense, practical woman. A woman a man could trust to have his back. A woman who could work hard all day, but still have plenty of energy to get wild in the night…
Easy there, he told himself. You only just met. You don’t know her name. You haven’t seen her face. She could be married. She could be a lesbian. She could be…
The woman took the scarf away from her face, and Waylon saw her at last. She was around his age, in her forties. Her thick dark hair was dramatically streaked with silver, like a night sky split by lightning. She had strong features, a determined chin, a distinctly sensual mouth framed by laugh lines, and eyes…
He stared into her eyes, caught like a bear with its paw in the honey pot. They were blue-gray, like a winter sky, but it wasn’t only the lovely color that fascinated him. Waylon felt like he could see right into her soul. In her depths lay not only the strength and decisiveness and courage he’d already seen for himself, but kindness and compassion, love that flowed like a woodland spring, and a smoldering desire that would be one hell of a wildfire if anyone ever struck it into flame.
She’s the one, rumbled his inner bear.
But Waylon already knew. The woman before him was the person he’d long since given up on finding. She was his one true love, the other half of his soul, the one they wrote the songs about.
My mate, he thought with incredulous happiness. I finally found her!
And then his giddy, unexpected joy came crashing down to earth. He’d met the woman he most wanted—most needed—to make a good impression on, at the worst possible moment. He’d once again failed to catch that damn colt. He’d yelled at Raelynn instead of speaking so calmly yet forcefully that she’d understand why she had to keep away from that beast. His mate must think he was a terrible parent, unable to stop his daughter from skipping school in order to put herself in danger!
A sinking coldness filled him as he thought, Well, am I a terrible parent?
Ever since that damn colt had shown up, Raelynn had gone completely out of control. And that wasn’t even getting into the other problem he’d never been able to help her with, no matter how hard he tried. The problem that he’d only made worse with his ham-handed efforts to fix.
His inner bear gave a loud snort. Stop worrying about our cub. She’s fine. Take our mate home to our den. Give her food to eat and water to splash in and a warm place to sleep.
The instant his bear mentioned splashing in water, Waylon became very aware of exactly how sweaty and sooty and all-over dirty he was. He had to reek of smoke and fire extinguisher chemicals. In addition to looking like a bad parent, he was also stinky and gross and generally the opposite of sexy. He wished he could shift then and there, shamble off into the woods, and hibernate until things magically fixed themselves.
“Earth to Dad,” said Raelynn. “If we’re going to tell her everything, should we take her to Vets For All Pets? You know, so we can… um… demonstrate?”
“You’re going straight back to school,” Waylon said automatically.
“It’ll be over by the time we get there,” protested Raelynn.
Waylon stopped himself from arguing with his daughter by sheer force of will. Turning to his mate—his mate!—he forced a smile that became a real one once he was actually looking at her. “Let’s start over. I’m Waylon Brody, and this is my daughter Raelynn. Pleased to meet you.”
Pleased, he thought. Now there’s the understatement of the century.
“I’m Judy Rosenberg.” She shook hands. Her grip was firm and strong, and lingered after the actual shake in a way that made him feel weak at the knees.
Then she turned to Raelynn with a smile that made Waylon feel warm in an entirely different way. He could tell that Judy wasn’t just being nice to a kid, but liked Raelynn specifically. “I saw you with the colt. You’re very good with horses.”
Raelynn beamed, giving Waylon a whole new set of mixed feelings. He loved it when people appreciated her—she was the best girl in the world and it wasn’t fair that everyone didn’t recognize that—but he didn’t want to encourage her obsession with that damn colt.
“Oh, thank you, Judy! I love horses. Especially that one.” Raelynn looked her over curiously. “You’re new in town, aren’t you? Did you move here, or are you visiting? What were you doing at the ranch? It’s empty, you know.”
“I know. I’m considering buying it.” A shadow passed over Judy’s face. “If I can afford it, which is… questionable.”
“Do you have horses?” Raelynn asked eagerly. “More than one, right, if you want a whole ranch! How many? What are their names?”
Like the kid she was, she’d breezed right over the part that had caught Waylon’s attention, which was the indication that she had financial troubles. It made him want to fix all her problems and buy the ranch for her. Too bad he couldn’t even come close to affording it.
Judy smiled. It was an altogether enchanting smile, full of tenderness as well as humor. “I run Horse Hope Rescue, which is exactly what it sounds like. I try to find forever homes for my rescue horses, so the exact number I have varies. Right now I have sixteen horses, two donkeys, and a mule.”
And I’d thought I couldn’t love her more, thought Waylon. She rescues horses!
Raelynn gazed at Judy, her expression fifty percent admiration and fifty percent jealousy. “Sixteen horses! Two donkeys! And a mule! Oh, you’re so lucky!”
“Your horses are lucky to have you,” said Waylon. “And your donkeys. And your mule.”
“Dad’s a horse veterinarian,” put in Raelynn.
“Oh, really?” Now Judy was looking at him with admiration.
“Not only horses,” Waylon said. “I see other animals too. But horses are my specialty.”
“It can’t be an easy life, being a country horse vet,” said Judy.
“The animals I treat eventually go home to someone else,” he said. “I know how much work it is to take care of even one or two horses, even temporarily. I can’t imagine having nineteen of them!”
And there was Judy’s smile again. “Horse Hope Rescue has had as many as thirty at a time. You’re right, it’s a lot. But I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”
“Come over to our house, and tell me ALL about it,” suggested Raelynn. “All their names and personalities and everything! And we’ll tell you about the colt! And everything.”
Take her to our den and feed her well, put in Waylon’s bear.
Waylon bit his tongue on telling Raelynn not to invite people over to their home without asking him first. Much as he’d have loved to invite Judy himself, he didn’t want to rush her or make her uncomfortable. But it was out there now, so he plunged on in. “Yes, would you like to come over?”
Cool clean rushing water, put in his bear.
“We have a shower,” Waylon blurted out, then wanted to smack himself. Could he possibly have said anything more likely to make her feel like he was crudely hitting on her or that she smelled? “I mean, we’re all covered in soot. You could borrow some clothes, and I’d cook you an early dinner. Or we could drop you off at wherever you’re staying, and we could explain the colt on the way. Or you could drive in your own car, and I’d give you my phone number to explain later. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
“I walked here, actually. My car’s at my bed-and-breakfast.” Judy gave him a long look that made him wonder if maybe she didn’t care at all about soot and sweat. “I’d love to take you up on your offer, but I don’t think either of your clothes would fit me.”
“This set of clothes is too big,” said Raelynn, indicating Waylon. Then, gesturing at herself, she said, “This set of clothes is too small. But if you come to our house, we can find you clothes that are juuuuuuust right!”
Like most shifter households, they kept a stash of spare clothes in multiple sizes in case a friend or relative or even a stranger happened to be in need of a change after their own clothes got destroyed by an unexpected shift. But Waylon had been watching Judy as his daughter spoke, and was puzzled and dismayed by how her expression changed from one of sensual appreciation to sharp disappointment and then self-reproach.
“Of course you can,” Judy said in a flat voice. “Yes, thank you, that would be lovely.”
She didn’t look like she thought it would be lovely at all.
Dismayed, Waylon thought, What happened?
Chapter Three
I get to wear his wife’s clothes, Judy thought glumly. Oh goodie.
There was nothing more crushing than knowing that she was Waylon’s type, at least so far as her body was concerned, except oops! He already had a woman of exactly her size: his wife.
It was absolutely ridiculous how disappointed she was, considering how briefly she’d known him and Raelynn. The only thing more ridiculous than her disappointment were the fantasies she’d spun about buying the ranch, dating Waylon, getting to know Raelynn, and finding out what in the world was up with the fiery colt.
But hey, maybe she could still be friends with Waylon. Raelynn was clearly dying to quiz her about her herd, and Judy couldn’t resist a horse-mad girl. And she definitely wasn’t letting either of them escape without telling her about the fire horse.
She climbed into the passenger side of Waylon’s truck. Raelynn loaded her bicycle into the truck bed, then scrambled into a rear seat. Waylon turned on the engine, and the truck was filled with the sound of an old Dolly Parton song.
She caught the glance he shot in her direction, his hand poised over the off button, and shook her head. “I love Dolly.”
As if given permission, Raelynn began to sing along. What she lacked in tunefulness, she made up in enthusiasm.
This time Waylon didn’t look at Judy, but he had a very expressive face and she could tell he was torn between wondering if Raelynn’s singing was annoying her and not wanting to stop his daughter from doing something harmless that she obviously enjoyed.
There seemed only one way out of the dilemma. If Judy hadn’t known for sure that she had no chance with him, romantically speaking, she’d never have done it. She couldn’t carry a tune in a horse bucket. But when she was by herself, she did enjoy singing along. And “Coat of Many Colors” was one of her favorites.
Judy couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eyes as she did it. Fixing her gaze on the horizon, she joined Raelynn and Dolly.
Waylon’s ears will never be the same, she thought. But she was wrong about that. A moment later, his deep voice joined theirs.
If she hadn’t wanted to keep going, she’d have burst out laughing. He too couldn’t sing a note. But it didn’t stop him from trying. As the pickup truck wound along the mountain roads, they sang “Jolene” and “9 to 5,” “Kentucky Gambler” and “I Still Miss Someone,” “Silver Threads and Golden Needles” and “The Seeker” and “Tennessee Homesick Blues.”
When they pulled up in front of a cabin-style house, they were halfway through “Here I Am.” Waylon parked and put out his hand to turn off the engine, but Raelynn said, “This is my favorite!” They sat in the car and sang it to the end.
He turned off the engine, and they applauded each other. Judy remarked, “Now I know why people do karaoke.”
“We should do that some time,” Raelynn suggested.
“Wouldn’t be as fun,” said Waylon. “Country music was meant to be sung in trucks.”
Nobody could argue with that.
Waylon opened the door for her to come in. The interior of the house was even cozier than the exterior, made of golden-brown unpainted wood with built-in shelves and nooks and cupboards. A beat-up and very comfy-looking sofa held company with a few equally beat-up armchairs that would allow even a Viking-size man to sprawl out in comfort.
Here's the house, Judy thought. Now for the dog. And then the wife.
She was utterly unsurprised when a bark echoed through the house. But the dog that rushed up, barking and wagging his tail, was not at all what she’d imagined. He had the long flapping ears of a bloodhound, the wedge-shaped head of a pit bull, the big body of a Saint Bernard, and fluffy fur in black and white splashes. His legs were too short for his size, so he looked like a cartoon dog as he ran, his little legs churning madly to get him across the floor.
“Hey, Bruiser!” Raelynn threw herself down on the carpet and playfully wrestled him while he licked her all over.
“Bruiser?” Judy said to Waylon as they stepped around the writhing mass of red hair and black-and-white fur.
“He’s a rescue,” Waylon explained. “A dog-fighting ring was trying to breed an ultimate fighting dog. They got a litter they had high hopes for, but they got caught before they could do more with the pups than name them. The rest of the puppies grew up to be scary-looking dogs with hearts of gold. And then there’s Bruiser.”
Lifting her face from the floor, Raelynn said, “Bruiser is perfect.”
“No arguments there,” Waylon replied.
Bruiser disengaged from Raelynn to sniff at Judy. She offered him her hand, and he threw himself on his back on the floor. She scratched his belly, trying not to laugh as his short little legs pedaled in the air.
He wasn’t their only pet, she noticed. A tabby cat emerged to rub against her ankles, and a pair of yellow eyes stared at her from beneath the sofa.
“That’s Felix,” said Waylon as Judy petted the tabby. “And the demon eyes are Oscar. Sorry for the mess. We weren’t expecting company.”
“What mess?” asked Judy.
“Muddy boots on the floor, dishes in the sink, clothes on the sofa…”
She held up a hand to stop him. “I run a horse rescue, remember? You think my own place doesn’t have muddy boots on the floor? At least you don’t have hay on the floor!”
“Well….” Raelynn said with a grin, pointing to a couple wisps by the doorway.
“It’s cozy,” said Judy firmly, and meant it.
“I’ll get the clothes,” said Raelynn. She beckoned Judy in closer, and whispered, “What’s your bra size?”
“40-C,” Ju
dy whispered back automatically. “But I can’t wear someone else’s bra! Mine is fine.”
Raelynn gave a snort of indeterminate meaning, then ran off.
On her way to the bathroom, Judy caught a glimpse of what had to be Raelynn’s bedroom, unless Waylon slept in a bed that would leave his feet dangling over the edge and liked his walls plastered with horse posters.
Raelynn returned with an armful of clothes and a towel, which she stuffed into Judy’s arms. “It’s all clean. If you see any hairs, they’re clean too. They’re from the dryer. Dad gets so covered in fur every day, it’s impossible to get out completely.”
Waylon looked like he wanted to sink through the floor.
“I don’t see any hairs,” said Judy, and shut herself in.
Based on the shampoo that promised to be delicate enough for a teenage girl, a pink-handled razor, and a framed print of horses, this was Raelynn’s bathroom. It was generous of her to give Judy first crack at the shower without protest.
She stripped out of her sweaty, sooty, smoky clothes, and stepped into the shower. Judy kept the water cool at first, then increased the heat. The water felt delicious on her skin. As she luxuriated in it, she became conscious of her own nudity in Waylon’s house, and that he was presumably also naked at the same time. It felt oddly intimate, as if the walls between them were hardly a barrier at all.
He’s married, Judy reminded herself. You’re about to put on his wife’s clothes.
That was enough to make her end the shower. She toweled off and picked up the clothes Raelynn had given her, a pair of blue jeans and a red T-shirt with a pattern of flying birds. A package of new underwear enclosed in plastic and a 40-C bra with tags attached fell out of the stack.
It was a very kind gesture, and she was extremely happy not to have to put her own sweaty bra and panties back on. But it was also a weird little mystery. A very hospitable household might keep extra underwear in case some visitor stayed unexpectedly overnight or fell in a pond or fought a surprise grass fire, she supposed. But who gave a one-time visitor a completely new bra? Was it Waylon’s wife’s? Would she be okay with having someone else wear her brand-new bra first? And how coincidental was it for them to have the exact same bra size?
