Something big—huge—bounded from the nearby sitting room. Cassie screamed as a second jumped at her with a panicked baa.
“Cassie? Are you okay? Holy Hannah. Where did those sheep come from?”
On hands and knees, Cassie peeked into the sitting room and saw it was clear of sheep. “The door wasn’t locked.” She groaned as she shoved herself upright.
“Is the back door open?”
“Let’s see.” Cassie picked her way down the passage and stepped over a soldier-straight line of beer cans, her heart breaking at the destruction. Witty curses in lime-green spray-paint adorned the walls. Sheep manure peppered the faded blue carpet. A sheep—well, a lamb, since it was small—leaped through the kitchen doorway and disappeared through an open door. “Mystery solved.” She shut the door.
“Wait, we’d better check all the rooms.”
“Good point.” Cassie turned and stood in poop. “Ugh, my favorite shoes.”
They searched for more sheep but, luckily, they’d departed en masse.
“Cassie, you can’t stay here tonight.”
“No.” Cassie sighed, slumping as she watched five sheep burst through a gap in the fence and disappear. “The place needs TLC first. Since we’re here, I’d like to make a list of what needs doing. I have paper and pen in the SUV.”
“Still resisting computers?”
“Digital has its place. I use phones. I read e-books. I Google as much as the next girl, but the tactile sensations of paper and pen helps me to focus.”
Emma laughed, her blue eyes alight with mischief. Happiness and contentment radiated from her, and without warning, an envy-bomb pierced Cassie’s chest, so painful she rubbed the spot. Comparisons sprang to mind, a woe-is-me attitude shoving forward like a whiny child. Heck…
Aghast at the surge of jealousy, Cassie forced a pained grin and fled to collect her notebook while bitch-slapping her shrill inner child.
“Most of the mess and damage inside is superficial,” Emma said on her return. “Painting and cleaning up the rubbish. I rang Jack. He said he wouldn’t mind oysters and wasn’t busy. He’s bringing Hone with him.”
“Who’s Hone? I don’t remember you mentioning him.”
“He’s George’s oldest son. Hone works at George Taniwha and Sons with us.”
“He’s a private investigator too?”
“Yes. Don’t worry. You’ll like him. Where do you want to start?”
Cassie, who after her harsh self-lecture had re-entered the friend mindset, scanned the kitchen. “Might as well start here. New kitchen units, definitely. It’s a spacious room. Grandma always used to have a table. I have no idea what happened to that.” She jotted in bullet points. Table. Units. Breakfast bar?
“The place has good bones. You’ll need to chuck the carpet since the sheep have made a mess. Should we pull up a piece to see if you have wooden floorboards?”
With those words of encouragement, Cassie’s residual envy slipped away, and excitement replaced the destructive emotion. Grandad had never updated, especially after her grandmother died. A project might settle the angst that had trailed her during her last tour. At the very least it would give her a base to use when she wanted to recharge.
* * * * *
“That was Emma. Her friend’s house is a mess, and she asked if I’d mow the long grass for her.” Jack speared his spade into the ground. He ran a hand through his straight black hair, cut on a regular basis now that he’d married Emma, and picked up his black T-shirt. “I said I’d go and help. You want to come?”
“Why? That sounds like more work. Why are you digging up perfectly good lawn again?”
“Emma wants a vegetable garden.”
Hone stretched, not minding the physical labor, but complaining for form’s sake. He grounded his spade and wiped the sweat off his forehead.
“Emma’s friend is paying in oysters.”
Hone reached for his T-shirt. “I haven’t had a feed of shellfish for ages. Where are we going?”
“Clevedon. We can hit the beach once we’re finished. If the tide is right, we can collect cockles at Kawakawa bay.”
“Throw in a beer at the pub and you’re on.”
Jack eyed him. “You look disgustingly satisfied. Thought you’d complain more or say you have a hot date.”
“Nope. At present, my taniwha is a lazy slug. You have Emma to satiate your dragon’s appetite for sex. I had the Geraldine twins. Many times,” he added with a wink.
“Hell. Don’t tell Emma.”
Hone shrugged. “So shoot me. My taniwha and I love sex. Full moon last night. I needed the sex to maintain control. Aunt June doesn’t approve of dragons flying through the sky letting off flares of fire. Says it upsets the authorities. Dad reiterates, so it’s either rebellion or sex since Manu’s invention isn’t working yet.”
“Yeah, sucks being a taniwha sometimes. At least I can swim if necessary, and Emma knows what to do if that ever happens.”
“You’re a lucky man.” Nothing less than the truth, but Hone didn’t add the rest of his thoughts. He loved sex and wouldn’t apologize for it, but at the back of his mind, he’d started to yearn for more. A partner with whom he could be himself. That hadn’t, however, stopped him trotting out his rules to every woman he dated.
One—technically he didn’t date and what he had was fun, consensual encounters.
Two—leave them as friends. No drama and angst that way.
And three—make rules clear at the start.
Jack turned toward his garden shed. “I’ll load the mower.”
His friend pulled Hone’s mind from women and rules. “If the grass is long, a slasher might work better. A chainsaw might come in handy. Stop at home on the way. Dad won’t mind if we borrow his tools.”
Jack’s phone rang. Emma again. Hone heard her sultry voice as she spoke to Jack. Something to pry up old carpet and mouse traps.
Soon, they were on their way to Clevedon.
As always, leaving the city excited his taniwha, but after the indulgences of sex in many positions, it wasn’t difficult to keep his human form. Instead, he opened the passenger side window and stuck out his head, inhaling the fresher country air.
Jack shot him the look, his dark brows scrunched in disapproval. “Quit acting like a dog.”
Hone let the insult roll right off him, content with his world. “Does Emma’s friend realize how many oysters we’ll eat?”
“Behave,” Jack warned. “Cassie and Emma have been friends since they were in primary school.”
“She know about taniwhas?” He held up a hand and spoke before Jack could reply. “Scratch that. Emma wouldn’t blab.” Hone stuck his head farther out the window and dragged in myriad country scents—animals, grass, trees, a few people—ignoring Jack’s grumbles to delight in the crisp air.
Jack drove fast but with expert control and the journey didn’t take long.
Hone straightened, his eyes narrowing at the idea of a woman—any woman—living in such isolation. “This place is in the middle of nowhere.”
“This place is a dump.” Jack stated the obvious as he parked beside a red SUV.
Hone studied the wooden bungalow. The building had a sturdy frame. Sure, it was missing a few boards and needed repainting. “It will be better once the grass is cut. You go and tell Emma we’re here and I’ll start unloading. Glad we brought the chainsaw. Those trees will need trimming. Take away the gloom.”
“Might take more. Depends what the inside is like.” Jack climbed from the vehicle, his ground-eating steps taking him to the door.
Hone, used to Jack and his abruptness, didn’t take offense. He set to work unloading the mower and tools. The thump of Jack’s knock on the door, his call and the feminine response brought warmth to Hone’s heart, a sense of rightness. At one time, he’d considered hooking up with Emma, but anyone but an idiot could see she wanted Jack. Hell, Jack had been an idiot. Oblivious until a case on Waiheke Island in the Hauraki Gulf had for
ced them together. Add in a full moon, and Jack hadn’t stood a chance.
Not that his friend seemed unhappy. Emma was good for Jack, jerking him from his taciturn behavior. These days, he smiled more readily, behaved more human.
Hone adjusted the mower to a high setting, ripped off his T-shirt and began his attack on the long grass. No need for a catcher. Hopefully, the mower wouldn’t have a spastic attack and refuse to work.
He started on the right-hand side and discovered an overgrown concrete path on his third round of the lawn. The sun beat down overhead, and he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow with his forearm. Jack trotted outside with Emma and another woman. Emma waved and he returned the greeting. He recommenced his mowing pattern.
Jack said something to the women and strode to his work vehicle. He handed Emma a hammer and a crowbar. Hone chortled as Jack offered a comment to his wife. Advice probably. Emma with tools. He couldn’t wait to see what she intended to do with those.
On his next circuit, Jack gestured at the trees. The friend nodded, and she and Emma retreated. Jack hadn’t mentioned the friend was attractive, although to be honest, he hadn’t asked because an innocent question might make Emma consider matchmaking. Women did that stuff. Not gonna happen.
But from what he could see, the friend rocked some serious curves. Not as tall as Emma, which meant she would reach his shoulders in height. Long black hair gathered in a messy ponytail. Too far away to see the minute details, such as did she have freckles or white teeth or an agreeable scent. Not that it mattered. A short-term involvement with the friend would make his interaction with Emma difficult and would piss off Jack.
Yeah, he’d quell his natural inclination to flirt. Keep his boots firmly planted in the friend zone.
Will Hone manage to keep his mitts off those sexy curves? Learn more here
About Shelley
USA Today bestselling author Shelley Munro lives in Auckland, the City of Sails, with her husband and a cheeky Jack Russell/mystery breed puppy.
Typical New Zealanders, Shelley and her husband left home for their big OE soon after they married (translation of New Zealand speak – big overseas experience). A twelve-month long adventure lengthened to six years of roaming the world. Enduring memories include being almost sat on by a mountain gorilla in Rwanda, lazing on white sandy beaches in India, whale watching in Alaska, searching for leprechauns in Ireland, and dealing with ghosts in an English pub.
While travel is still a big attraction, these days Shelley is most likely found in front of her computer following another love – that of writing stories of contemporary and paranormal romance and adventure. Other interests include watching rugby (strictly for research purposes), cycling, baking bread and curling up with an enjoyable book.
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Other Books by Shelley
Paranormal
Sea of Change
Price of Love
Lynx to the Pharaoh
Curse of Brandon Lupinus
Churchill Polar Bears
Fiona’s Mates
Kendall’s Mates
Renee’s Mates
Dragon Investigators
Blue Moon Dragon
Blood Moon Dragon
Middlemarch Capture
Snared by Saber
Favored by Felix
Lost with Leo
Spellbound with Sly
Bundle
Middlemarch Capture
Middlemarch Shifters
My Scarlet Woman
My Younger Lover
My Peeping Tom
My Assassin
My Estranged Lover
My Feline Protector
My Determined Suitor
My Cat Burglar
My Stray Cat
My Second Chance
My Plan B
My Cat Nap
My Romantic Tangle
My Blue Lady
My Twin Trouble
Bundle
Middlemarch Shifters 1 – 3
Middlemarch Shifters 4 - 6
House of the Cat series
Sampled & Seduced
Captured & Seduced
Claimed & Seduced
Merry & Seduced
Stranded & Seduced
Seized & Seduced
Hunted & Seduced
Festive & Seduced
Betrayed & Seduced
Enticed & Seduced
Bundle
House of the Cat
Contemporary
Wild Child
Cat Burglar in Training
One Night of Misbehavior
Blindside
Fringe Benefits
Lovers at Last
Ain’t Misbehaving
Playing to Win
Summer Encounter
Reformed Bad Girl
Stranger Things Happen
Fancy Free
Protection
Romp
Buzz
Friendship Chronicles
Secret Lovers
Reunited Lovers
Clandestine Lovers
Part-Time Lovers
Enemy Lovers
Military Men
Innocent Next Door
Soldiers with Benefits
Safeguarding Sorrel
Bundle
Military Men
Sci-fi/Futuristic
Interplanetary Love
Sex Idol
Alien Encounter series
Janaya
Hinekiri
Alexandre
Bundle
Alien Encounter
Gay Romance
No Defense
Best Man
Last Wish
Curse Across Time
Eye on the Ball
Fallen Idol
Lone Wolf
Seeking Kokopelli
Historical
The Spurned Viscountess
Evening Tryst
Unforgettable
Mistress of Merrivale
Copyright Page
Kendall’s Mates
Copyright © 2018 Shelley Munro
ISBN: 978-0-473-45346-6
Cover Design by Frauke Spanuth of Octopi Covers
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Shelley Munro
Kendall's Mates Page 24