Falling For A Wolf #1 (BBW Werewolf Shifter Romance)

by Mac Flynn

  Chapter 5

  The path itself was surprisingly well-used, and I guessed the hunters and their prey traveled along the trail regularly. No branches tapped my head, and no brush brushed against my coat sleeves as I walked onward. The trail wound its way up a slight incline, and the trees off the path were so thick that I quickly lost sight of my cabin. Onward and upward I went as the day threatened to turn into night. I'd forgotten how far the old settler's cabin was from mine, and after a half hour and no clearing in sight I paused to assess the situation.

  The air was thinner up there, and I doubled over and gasped for the precious life-gas. As I stood there gasping my eyes caught on something stuck to a nearby bush. I grasped the tan, soft object and held it up to the dwindling light. It was a clump of fur like a dog's, but as soft as a down pillow. It could have come off the dog of a hunter, but the fur had been trapped on was three feet above the ground. The dog must have jumped at something to get its fur stuck that high.

  There came a faint thwack as metal met wood. I pocketed the fur in my coat jacket and whipped my head from left to right. Nothing on the sides. The noise echoed through the trees again, and I realized it was ahead of me. I tiptoed forward and just around the bend was the meadow I'd been dreaming about with its quaint settler cabin.

  Unfortunately, my dreams were dashed when I saw that the area had been cleared of all its trees thirty yards from the cabin. The culprit of this atrocity to my childhood memories was a handsome man of thirty who stood near the path. He wore a thick woolen shirt, boots, and dirty jeans, and his unruly brown hair was short and matched his eyes. Everything would have been perfect but for his long hair and unruly bear. In his hands was the tell-tale ax, and in front of him stood a tree a foot thick, but with a chewed triangle at the base of the trunk where his ax had bitten into its flesh.

  At the sight of such carnage my heart sank. My childish dreams were shattered, and all because of this handsome man. This stranger could have been an angel, a god, or other celestial-beings-that-he-was-not. I grudgingly admitted that he was nearly all of those things, but because he had shattered my childhood memories he needed to die. Or have a talking to because I was pretty sure some of this damage was my property.

  I balled my hands into fists and marched up to the ax-wielding fiend. Then I remembered he was an ax-wielding fiend and stopped my march five yards from him. "What do you think you're doing here?" I growled.

  He paused in his destruction, shouldered the ax and smiled at me. I swear his teeth shimmered like in those toothpaste commercials. "People generally call this tool an ax, and I use it to clear the land around my cabin," he told me.

  I raised an eyebrow and crossed my arms over my chest. "You're cabin?" I repeated.

  "Well, that's what the deed says," he replied.

  "Well, I have a deed that says this cabin is on my property," I insisted.

  The man leaned his ax against the half-cut tree and clapped his hands together. He offered one of them to me. "You must be the other owner of the Johnson property. My name's Adam Smith. A pleasure to meet you."

  I ignored his hand. "What do you mean 'other owner?'"

  Smith dropped his hand, but not his smile. "Mr. Johnson's land had two parcels. I wanted this one, and he sold the other to you," he explained.

  "How do I know you're not just a squatter trying to lay claim to my cabin?" I questioned him.

  "If I had a phone I could call up Mr. Johnson, but since reception isn't that great up here I'll go get my deed." He turned away and strode into the cabin. My eyes flickered between the ax and where the man had gone. I pondered running away with his weapon and calling the cops, but he reappeared. In his hand was a folded slip of paper, and he walked over and held the paper out to me. "Here's my proof."

  I snatched the paper from him and unfolded it. The slip turned out to be a deed exactly like the one I owned that was safely tucked in an unpacked box. There was Mr. Johnson's shaky signature beside one that read 'Adam Smith.' He had an incredibly epic John Hancock, what with its long scrawls and smooth lines. I cursed him a thousand times for having proof of ownership, and another thousand for his beautiful handwriting.

  "I guess you're telling the truth," I mumbled as I handed the deed back.

  He pocketed the deed and held out my hand. "So can we start over on the right foot?"

  I tucked my arms into one another. "I'm left-footed, so no," I shot back. His eternal optimism never wavered. He snatched one of my hands from my arm and gave it a hearty shake. "Hey!" I yelped. I jumped back and clutched my injured fingers. He had a hell of a grip. "That's assault, you know!"

  He laughed and shook his head. "I didn't, so I'll have to plead ignorance of the law."

  His laughter was almost infectious, but I kept my lips pursed. "Well, it is, so don't do it again!"

  "Why don't we discuss these latest nuances of the law in my cabin?" He gestured to the old settler's cabin, and I had to admit he'd fixed it up without ruining the natural aesthetic. The logs had new gray chink between them, and the original door stood once more on shiny new hinges. A stovepipe stuck out the roof and a puff of smoke sailed into the sky.

  I turned away back toward the path. "I just remembered I have an important appointment." Probably with a squirrel gorging himself on my food. I hurried down the path angry and disappointed. Never a good combination for a tired and hungry woman.

  "Can I at least have your name?" he called out, but I ignored him and kept on my way.

  I know what you're thinking, that he didn't deserve the treatment I gave him and how I was a terrible person. Well, after careful consideration I think you're right, but at that time I was a woman disappointed and careful consideration was a long time in coming. I marched down that path and rammed my foot down one at a time. My hands were jammed in my coat pockets and I glared at every twig and branch wishing they would wither. My mutterings broke the silence around me.

  "Damn him acting like he didn't do anything wrong. How could he go and wreck all those trees!"

  I paused and frowned. There was that eerie silence again. I turned around and looked for the cute woodland creatures, but like their noises they were gone. Come to think of it, I hadn't heard any noises in the clearing around Smith's property. Maybe he was the source of the Twilight Zone phenomena, but I couldn't see how that was if we only just met. That is, unless he was stalking me without my knowing.

  I clutched the neck of my coat in one hand and my eyes flitted around the silent, dark woods. The sun had only thirty minutes to live, and I hoped I had longer. I glanced behind me at the corner around which was this Adam Smith, alias Aspiring-ax-wielding-murderer, but he wasn't in sight. Still, a girl couldn't be too careful and I dashed down the trail. My feet pounded the dirt. My heart pounded my chest. I flew across the ground and covered the thirty-minute distance in under ten.

  I broke from the head of the path and stumbled into my clearing. Relief and exhaustion battled for domination, and exhaustion won. I stumbled to my house, stepped inside, and slammed the door behind me. My back slumped against the door, and I flipped on the switch. The porch light turned on. Wrong switch again. I flicked on the other one and the cabin was illuminated with the bare-bulbed light of the incandescent marvels.

  I found my towel in the corner ceiling was still in place and my food in the cabinets was untouched. I used my epic cooking skills to microwave a small pizza and gulp it down in a few bites. The sun set and the interior of the cabin grew noticeably colder, somewhere between too-cold and have-my-toes-dropped-off. I went to work on making a fire in the fireplace, but firemen had nothing to fear from me. Though I had a box of kindling and a stack of dry logs at my disposal, I couldn't start a fire with a coal from hell itself. The paper wouldn't light, the logs wouldn't light. Hell, my lighter wouldn't light. It was out of fuel. I'd have to make a drive down to the general store or I'd freeze off my assets.

  With
out fire there was nothing to do but put on a warm set of pajamas and dive beneath the thick pile of blankets I stacked on the bed. I snuggled my pillow and dreamed of warm days swimming in my pond or typing out my latest column on my porch.