Wild On My Mind

by Laurel Kerr

  Fluffy did not like Honey—which, by the way, was a ridiculous name for a honey badger. It lacked all creativity, even for the bipeds.

  Honey, however, did not appear to notice the silliness of her epithet. She was too busy getting all the treats and the Wee One’s attention.

  Worse, Honey thought she was cleverer than Fluffy. Up until now, he’d scoffed at the notion. But she’d performed the impossible last night.

  She’d found and managed to pry open the treat cabinet—something that had eluded Fluffy for years. And she’d eaten every last honey-covered morsel. Without sharing.

  This. This was war. And Fluffy fully intended to win.

  Order Laurel Kerr’s next book in the

  Where the Wild Hearts Are series

  Sweet Wild of Mine

  On sale May 2019

  Return to Sagebrush Flats in book 2 of the

  Where the Wild Hearts Are series by Laurel Kerr

  Sweet Wild of Mine

  “You must be new to Sagebrush Flats.”

  Magnus Gray reluctantly turned in the direction of the friendly Southern drawl. The speaker matched the rich, sexy voice. Blond. Willowy. Tall. Bonny green eyes. Pink lips curved into a welcoming smile.

  Magnus didn’t trust the woman’s grin, but at least he didn’t grimace in response. He chose, instead, a neutral expression—not surly enough to be rude, but not pleasant enough to invite further conversation. Unfortunately, the lass didn’t register the subtlety.

  Typical American.

  Instead, she slid into the booth across from him. This time Magnus didn’t stop his frown. In fact, he growled under his breath. He didn’t want to chat with the dafty woman. Couldn’t she see his open laptop?

  “I’m June Winters.” The woman beamed like the desert sun.

  He grunted. Under the best of circumstances, he hated introducing himself. Even after years of practice, he always stuttered on the letter M in his name.

  And this? This was not a good circumstance.

  “You don’t need to be a stranger, you hear? You’re welcome to join the celebration. The more the merrier!” The woman still smiled. Even for a Yank, she was a damn Cheshire cat. Without breaking eye contact, the lass waved her hand in the direction of a group of rowdy locals congregated around a rustic bar decorated with antlers. Some people might have found the decor of the Prairie Dog Café quaint. Magnus didn’t. He’d given up “quaint” when he’d finally escaped his boyhood home on a remote Scottish isle in the North Sea, part of the chain of islands that made up Orkney.

  Despite his silence, the woman kept blethering. “My friend and her husband just found out they’re going to have twins. The whole town is just as happy as ants at a picnic. Drinks are on the house—well, all except for the new mama-to-be. She’s having sparkling grape juice!”

  Magnus could only stare at the woman in disbelief. This was why he hated small towns. All the endless gossip. Why would he want to know about her friend’s drinking habits or the fact that she had a trout in the well? Next, the lass would be telling him just when and where her friends had shagged to conceive the bairns.

  He’d hated growing up on an isle with a population of less than five hundred. No privacy. No boundaries. No peace. Even though he’d lived with his da on a speck of an island off-shore from the larger one, he’d still found himself entangled in the threads of town gossip. They’d trapped him as surely as a spider’s silk did a struggling beetle. Against the odds, he’d broken free…only for his editor to send him straight into another web. A dusty, arid one, at that.

  At nineteen, Magnus had penned his first book between shifts as a roughneck on an oil rig off the coast of Norway. His muscles had ached, and the constant cold had seeped so deep into his skin, he’d sworn that even his molecules had ice crystals growing in them. But despite the dogged tiredness, he’d used the precious hours meant for sleeping to write about his childhood as if he could purge it from his soul.

  It hadn’t worked. Not completely. But the publishing world, and then the public, had loved his cathartic musings about his formative years on a struggling, windblown croft surrounded by the ever-present gray sea. When he’d hit bestseller lists all over the world, the media had billed him as a wunderkind.

  Intoxicated by his first success, he’d quickly written a second book about his adventures in Norway. While working on the ice, he’d found a pair of orphaned polar bear cubs, rescued them from starvation, and kept them alive until they could be relocated to a zoo. His fans had adored the tale.

  With all the dosh he made from his first books, he’d left the roughneck life behind and headed to Glasgow. Then a few years later, he’d moved to the welcome obscurity of London. In a city of over eight million, no one cared if a man chose to sup alone. Since his author photo was taken from the back with him staring out to sea, no one recognized him. He could eat, drink, and write in peace.

  But the public didn’t like his wry witticisms about city life. Sales from his next two books plummeted. And that had led to the fateful call with his editor a few weeks ago. Magnus could still hear the man’s rough Bostonian accent growling in his ear.

  People aren’t buying your urban jungle crap. You’ve gotten too acerbic. Too much misanthropy and too little humor. Get back to your roots. Small towns. Living creatures. I know the perfect place for you. It’s been all over the internet, a zoo in a place called Sagebrush Flats. It’s got the animal angle from your first books, but in a different enough locale that it’ll be fresh. Go work there for a season. Write about it. That…that I can sell. The other stuff, I can’t.

  Because Magnus preferred to keep his current lifestyle and not go back to being a roughneck, he now found himself in the back of beyond. The idea of shoveling manure again didn’t bother him. Animals and their shite he could take. But the human kind? Ay, that was the kincher.

  Across from him, the bonny blond still beamed. Welcoming. Charming. Sweet. And he didn’t believe any of it. She’d plopped her arse down in the booth across from him for one reason and one reason only. Gossip. She wanted to be the very first to meet the hulking stranger so she could blether to her friends about him the following morn. Magnus wasn’t a chap who typically attracted the lasses, especially those as braw as the likes of this one.

  “I swear none of us bite,” the woman joked and waited a beat for Magnus to speak. He didn’t. “We’re all very friendly.”

  Magnus sighed and looked longingly at his computer screen.

  “Come on,” the blond insisted as she rose from the table. Magnus shook his head, but the lass didn’t pay any attention. She reached forward and grabbed his hand. At the unexpected contact, Magnus jerked back, jamming his elbow hard against the wooden booth. He didn’t like being touched, especially by a stranger. He appreciated even less the strange jolt of awareness that zipped through him.

  Surprise showed in the blond’s leaf-green eyes. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to startle you, darling.”

  Baws. Now it would be all over town that he was a nervous numptie. Anger and frustration whipped inside Magnus like the furious polar winds of the North. Worse, his larynx muscles tightened ominously, and he felt his chest constrict. If he tried to speak, tried to explain that he wanted to be left alone, he’d never manage to force the words out. His neck would stiffen and his tongue would feel thick and useless as it stuck to the roof of his mouth. He’d be left as helpless as a carp flopping on a trawler’s deck. The welcome in those green eyes would turn to shock and then discomfort and finally to disgust, or worse, pity. Within a bloody night, the whole town would know about his stutter. They might even give him a nickname like his schoolmates had.

  Magnus grabbed his laptop, the hasty movement upsetting his ale. Hastily mopping up the liquid with napkins in one hand, he shoved his computer in his messenger bag with the other. Placing the sodden napkins in a neat pile, he stood up. Although the las
s was tall and willowy, his massive frame still dwarfed hers. He expected her eyes to widen at his full height. Most folks’ did upon first meeting him. But instead of a flash of leftover primordial fear, he thought he spotted something else entirely…appreciation.

  Lust speared him. Strong and heady. It was an attraction Magnus didn’t want to feel, especially when it tangled his tongue worse than driftwood caught in a fishing net.

  He pushed past the lass. He had no choice but to brush against her shoulder since she was blocking his exit from the booth like an old fairy stone. As his large body collided softly with her slender one, he swore that her heat seared him.

  “Wait,” the woman said, “I didn’t mean to chase you away. Let me at least replace your beer.”

  Magnus swung toward the lass, no longer caring how rude he’d become. He was either going to make a fool or an arse out of himself. And, having been both, he much preferred the second. Asses got more respect than jesters. Even if he couldn’t find the rhythm to explain himself, there was one phrase he could always force out.

  “Fuck off.”

  The lass’s lower jaw dropped slightly, revealing that she’d understood his deep Orcadian Scots accent. Instead of looking ridiculous with her mouth agape, the lass’s perfect pink lips formed a rather seductive O. Not waiting for his body’s reaction to that particular observation to become apparent, Magnus stormed from the Prairie Dog Café. As he burst out into the twilight, he greedily turned his face in the direction of the cool evening breeze. The restaurant had been roasting. Although Sagebrush in early January was much cooler than he’d expected for the desert, the air still felt thin and dry. Aye, he missed the familiar damp of Britain.

  Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, Magnus slouched as he ambled down the street. He’d been waiting all day for that ruined draught and a bit of relaxation after a long flight. Perhaps he’d have better luck in the morn at the tea shop on the corner. It looked pleasant, if a little treacly, with its lavender-painted facade and lace curtains in the windows. He’d checked the menu online. The owner claimed her nan was British, and some of the items sounded surprisingly authentic. It was one of the few things Magnus was looking forward to in Sagebrush. Knowing his luck, it probably would turn out to be the favorite haunt of the blond.

  * * *

  “What was that all about?” June’s best friend, Katie, asked as she appeared next to her, a glass of sparkling grape juice in her hand.

  “That man just told me to fuck off,” June said, still unable to shake her disbelief at the man’s rudeness. Her atypical feeling of annoyance only spiked when Katie snorted.

  “Josh,” Katie yelled over to their mutual friend from college who was in town for the weekend to celebrate her good news. “You won’t believe it. Some guy actually told June to fuck off.”

  “Well, he didn’t tell me to fuck off exactly. It was more like ‘feck aff.’”

  “Suu-uure,” Katie said before she took a long sip from her flute of grape juice. “Totally different.”

  Josh wandered over to join them. “What’s this I hear about some guy giving June the brush off?”

  “My word, you’d think no one has ever been rejected before in the history of mankind.”

  “Oh, we all have, June,” Josh said. “Just not you. What did this guy look like?”

  “From the back, not June’s usual type,” Katie said. “Too hairy. Too beefcakey.”

  “Too rude,” June added.

  Katie’s husband, Bowie, walked over to them and slung his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Who’s a rude, hairy beefcake?”

  “June’s unrequited love.” Katie stood up on her tiptoes to brush a quick kiss across her husband’s mouth, even though they’d only been separated for a matter of minutes. June found the couple’s affection incredibly sweet, especially now that they were expecting twins.

  June said quickly, “Heavens to Betsy, I was just making nice to the man. I don’t know why y’all are turning it into a declaration of love. It wasn’t as if I was flirting.”

  At her last statement, all three of her friends burst into irrepressible laughter. June glared at them. Katie got herself under control first. “June, you flirt with every guy. It’s how you interact with the entire male population of our species.”

  “Our species? Have you seen how she gets with the cute animals at Bowie’s zoo?” Josh asked.

  June popped Josh on the arm, but she couldn’t argue with Katie. She was a flirt. “Well, maybe I was flirting just a smidge, but I was only being welcoming to a stranger. Like Katie said, he’s not my usual type.” June liked her lovers to be as easygoing as herself. A romance should be as delightful and pleasant as sweet jam made from the first spring pickings. It should not have the drama and devastation of a fall hurricane, and Mr. Rude seemed to have the personality of a tempest, tornado, and tsunami all rolled into one godforsaken storm.

  June enjoyed handsome, debonair men. In contrast, the scowling Mr. Rude looked like a grumpy Paul Bunyan after a mishap with Rogaine. Yet, when the man had stood and stared her down with his piercing blue eyes, she’d felt a thrill clean down to her toes. It hadn’t been the smooth pull of attraction. No, this—this had been a searing bolt of primal energy. It was as if some elemental feminine instinct had instantly, and explosively, responded to his raw strength.

  There’d been something about his face. True, his unruly hair and shaggy beard had obscured his features, but June had always possessed an eye for a person’s bone structure. Her second talent after making jam was giving folks a makeover. And if anyone needed her helpful advice, it was Mr. Rude. Oh, he’d never be classically handsome. The planes of his face were too harsh. But with the right hairstyle and a trimmed beard, he’d look arresting, especially considering his cobalt-blue eyes.

  “Hmmm, he may not be your type, but I’m detecting a classic June Winters glint in your eyes,” Katie said.

  June smiled airily. “I’m just thinking about how I’d go about taming a wild Scot.”

  Josh snorted. “You sound like the cover of a romance novel.”

  “Oooo, I wonder what June’s crush would look like in a kilt,” Katie added.

  June was just about to retort when Bowie broke into the conversation with something blessedly sensible. “Wait. Was the guy Scottish?”

  June nodded. “With a deep brogue. He only said two words, but I got that much.”

  “Shit. That was probably Magnus Gray. I hope you didn’t scare him off. He’s supposed to start work at the zoo tomorrow.”

  Katie turned toward her husband. “June’s guy is the mysterious writer who’s going to volunteer at the zoo?”

  “Unless June’s man is visiting Rocky Ridge National Park and was just passing through, but I doubt it,” Bowie said. “It isn’t tourist season, and we don’t generally have a lot of Brits in Sagebrush.”

  “Dang blast it all,” June grumbled, “he’s Magnus Gray. I was hoping I could ask him to chat with Nan. During the Blitz, her parents sent her to live on the island he wrote about. She’s been re-listening to his audiobook for years.”

  The teasing glint left Katie’s eyes as she regarded June with a serious expression. “How is your grandma doing?”

  June sighed, wishing she had something better to report. “I’m not sure. She gets confused lately. She keeps calling me in the dead of night, thinking we had some big kerfuffle and that I’m angry with her. She’s just not herself.”

  “I know Lou can have his off days,” Bowie said, mentioning his eighty-year-old adoptive father.

  “I’m worried it’s more than just tiredness. This horrible, haunted look comes over her face as soon as the sun goes down. It’s like she’s constantly fretting about something fierce.”

  “Why don’t you bring her by the zoo?” Katie asked. “The animals always cheer her up.”

  “We’ll give her a pe
rsonal tour,” Bowie promised. “I know how much your grandma loves the baby animals, and the orphaned polar bear cub is due to arrive soon. That’s one of the reasons Magnus contacted me. He had some experience with the species when he was a roughneck in Norway, and his editor had heard we’ve received a grant from the Alliance for Polar Life.”

  “His second bestseller was about polar bears,” June said. “Nan listened to that one too. She didn’t care for his other books, though, so she stopped asking me to download them.”

  “His email said something about getting back to his roots,” Bowie said. “I wasn’t going to turn down free labor, especially from someone who has his background with animals.”

  “Why didn’t you recognize him just now?” Katie asked.

  Bowie shrugged. “I didn’t know what the man looked like. Magnus is very private. I haven’t even talked to him on the phone. All of our correspondence was through email. When I researched him online to check out his credentials, any pictures were taken from the back.”

  “According to my nan, Magnus Gray would make a hermit seem downright sociable. Part of his mystique, I suppose.”

  “He sounds like an ass,” Josh interjected.

  “My sentiments exactly,” June said. “I was just being genteel. Poor Nan. She was tickled pink he was coming to town. And I thought meeting him might help her.”

  “I don’t know, June,” Josh teased. “As you always say, if you try hard enough, you can charm a snake.”

  “A snake, yes, but can I charm a surly Scot?”

  * * *

  Magnus rose before the sun. He wasn’t meeting Bowie until ten o’clock, but even years after leaving his da’s croft, he couldn’t escape the rhythm of rural life. During his childhood, responsibility for the farm animals had fallen mainly on Magnus, with his da off early on his trawler bringing in the day’s catch. Their Shetland sheep and shaggy Highland beef cows had been fairly self-sufficient, but the milch cows had required his attention before and after school. In the evenings, there’d always been a stone wall to repair or a barn to clean. And that was in the winter months. Work had only intensified in the spring with lambing, calving, and planting. In the summers, Magnus had helped his da on the trawler, the two of them working in silence with only the sound of the waves lapping against the sides of the boat. Life on the oil rigs had been just as constant and demanding. Magnus had spent long shifts hefting hammers and wrenches as he kept the machinery working.