The tiny thin arm in the gage flew across the meter.
Hot enough to fry eggs. Thomas proved that the first day he brought me home, calling it science. My girl brain will never forget the cooking eggs.
And that's back when his trading partners helped out here. When he had time to drop everything and point out how a ten-year old needed to be careful. Back before his partners put lead between each other's eyes while Thomas and I were engrossed working down in the still. So much for our little homestead being the Eden the men claimed it was.
We can't avoid human nature regardless of the effort we took to bar it from our home. I thrust the voltmeter into my waistband at my lower back and turned to the high log wall and dull silver gate.
Propped open two feet where I'd left it. The gap filled with a Shifter leaning a shoulder against the outermost log of the palisade, blocking any view I would have had of the homestead's interior.
He stared off across the meadow toward the thick growth of trees skirting the mountains.
Like he scanned the wilderness for unruly Normals. Good. It's safe to repair the gate. I'll just walk the perimeter and make certain there aren't any vagrants hiding in my berry patch while I'm here.
****
Just where does she think she's going? I watched her walk from where she'd checked the voltage of the perimeter surround to the ten feet of neatly-arranged blackberry plants, all planted beautifully in three rows paralleling the log and wire walls.
Someone had taken a lot of time planning the function of this homestead's grounds. I'd never seen a place as productive as this little piece of The Wild aside from Prepville. Every Gods-be-damned inch of this compound served a purpose. Except the courtyard. Of course, it had a purpose in allowing places to park large vehicles that managed to make it through the gate.
She stepped between two rows of blackberry bushes.
Tangles. Lots of nasty barbed vines loaded with green, red, and ebony berries.
Protect, Wolf snarled.
He had to be right when anyone of those Normals who attacked earlier could have been lurking beyond the curve of the wall. She's probably not going to like me following her. But what does a Guardian do in a situation like this?
Her sweet little tail swung left, then right.
Protect, Wolf snapped.
Fine. I stepped off.
Stalking her shadow. Her swinging braid's end brushed the little ass a man couldn't possibly ignore. Oh to run my hands beneath her t-shirt and see if her narrow waist felt as small as it looked. To feel her body tremble beneath her velvet skin with my palms.
She shot me a suspicious glance over her shoulder.
Like she could read my mind. Or that she knows my thoughts betray my brother. But I'm not letting her walk off unprotected. Sure she has a pistol. But she's female. And females require extra protection. Hell, those Parkers tranquilized her. I scanned the path laying before her to convey I couldn't be deterred.
She turned back to her destination.
And ignored me all the way around the compound's berry patch. I guess the brief walk gave me the opportunity to look for Stag beyond the bramble. Or to sweat off some of Wolf's anxiety over the female. But we circled the fortification, and I followed the quiet Raven back through the gateway.
She locked the gate, returned to her cart, and disappeared, wheeling her equipment through the barn's gaping doorway.
Well, I'd just keep an eye on her from the porch. Not a bad place to sit. In the shade on one of the three rocking chairs. I planted my tail into the hard wooden seat of the chair closest to the barn.
Right where I could hop from where I was elevated above the edge of the courtyard by two long wooden steps. Not many people could claim they owned a clean shady porch running the length of their log cabin. What a nice place to rest. A nice cold beer is all I need to complete the picture. But it'd be rude to ask.
The lodge's door creaked, producing the still-shirtless Thomas.
Squinting, the old man surveyed his domain and managed the five steps he took to the rocking chair beside me like he'd never been wounded. "Where's Raven?" He reached back with both hands to lower himself as he bent his knees.
But caught himself, realizing he was shy one hand. Poor guy. "She's in the barn."
Thomas ignored his stump and studied me with a sideways glance. "I see the gate's repaired. Did she mention what she has planned next?"
Why would I be privy to something she hadn't shared with her relative? I wagged my head.
His mouth stretched into a speculative line. "Well, she's certain to work on anything essential to maintain security and prevent the loss of our resources. Raven is not one to waste time. Did the Normals destroy her blackberry patch?"
So she's the one with the taste for the berries. "No."
Thomas' gaze wandered off to scan his property. "Good. She'd be in even more of a sour mood if anything interrupted her favorite pastime."
What could that be? And since he's not talking, he's either baiting me or a rambler. I slid my gaze to the old man.
Thomas flicked his blue eyes back my direction. "Blackberry wine. She's quite the entrepreneur. But I think she takes after me with my hobby and the still." His gaze snapped to the building with the damaged roof. "Chemistry, you know. I'd appreciate your assistance in piecing the still back together." He held up his stump and arched a graying eyebrow at me. "I'm a hand short these days."
His reasoning held a hint of humor. But I'm not about to make light of his loss. A man needed everything he was born with for survival AEI. Especially a Normal.
His blue gaze hopped back to the barn. "There she goes."
Yes. Raven was on the move again. Carrying an extremely long ladder with multiple retractable sections.
"She's heading for the windmill. And we won't say a word."
Why do I feel like that was a coyly-worded command to remain silent? Probably because I have to sit and watch Raven lean the ladder, extend the sections, and mount the rickety contraption.
Protect. Wolf shoved into my throat.
And squirmed like a choking wedge bent on forcing me to my feet. But Thomas said to leave her to her work. Let her feel important. I can do that. I can.
"She's a beauty. Isn't she?" the old tinker asked with slow and measured words.
Talk about selling the farm. I carefully nodded without looking away from Raven where she'd slowly climbed approximately a third of the ladder's rungs.
Protect mine, Wolf growled.
"Oh, she's on the ladder all the time, Colt. There's not a thing for you to concern yourself with. She knows what she's doing."
Is this old man reading my mind? Or Wolf had literally growled. I forced myself to turn away from Raven.
To look at Thomas' straight-lipped persuasive smile. To bite back my comments about how foolish it is to allow a female to risk her safety on a wobbly ladder. About how my Wolf is about to rip through my itching skin to take matters into his own paws. The very paws with claws Wolf is using to try to carve his way through my ribcage at the moment.
Breathe. Just suck down air and forget about the windmill.
Great. Windmills run on wind. And this one must be repaired to do so--
"Do you play chess?" Thomas casually asked.
As if he realized I needed a change of subject. "No." But we're playing chess now. Aren't we? Because I'm at checkmate. Not even a king. No. I'm just remotely a sort of a prince a few brothers away from leading a clan. Cornered in a Gods-be-damned rocking chair. Toeing my frustration in a restless rocking motion to keep down every word bursting to blurt from my lips in Buck-fashion. Choked down. In the chasm with one pissed-off Wolf. Why? Because Wolf has the hots for tail. Mating. A thing that often gets a Shifter into precarious situations. And all I can do is sit on edge, toe pushing this chair, and stare at the old man's assessive gaze. Beer. Drinking is dangerous for Shifters. But I'm living dangerously today…
Thomas' gaze snapped to the windmill. "Holy shit
."
Reflex took over, driving my gaze to the same point. A place where one female swung like a weight on the end of a chain in my sire's grandfather clock. Back and forth a good five feet beneath the symmetrical fan's spray of blades.
"I bet that set her pulse throbbing," Thomas chuckled his mumble then whined out a long quasi-laugh with the last syllable.
Among other things. But she had Gods-be-damned sense enough and training to tie off.
"Yes. She knows what she's doing. For the most part." Thomas grew extremely quiet.
He's up to something. I think. I'll just ignore his game. "While she's working on the windmill, is there anything I can help with?" I studied the old man who stared at his niece.
"Not today. The sun will set soon." Thomas smacked his lips and shot me a wily smile. "Tomorrow, she'll be just as dogmatic. Edgy. It's because of the blackberries. If she won't allow you to help with repairs, you can harvest the berries. She'll be none the wiser." He winked.
Conspiratorially. What is going on?
"Remember the berries. I'm going to go rest." He shoved up with a grip on the armrest using his only hand, sucking in a deep breath, tottered off, and closed the door behind him.
****
Gripping the side of the collapsed ladder with both hands, I carried it back around the the backside of the barn to lean it's hefty weight against the large building's brown wood atop the ever-growing summer's woodpile.
Got to check the solar oven. The pot roast should be almost finished.
Wood needs chopping too, or I'll be miserable this winter. Damn those bastards for screwing up my schedule.
Garden needs watering, weeding, and harvesting.
Blackberries needed picking.
Animals needed to be fed.
The cow needs milking.
The corn needs grinding. That can wait until tomorrow when I have more time to put the cornbread in the solar oven.
The laundry needs to be hung on the line.
Don't forget the stalls need mucking. I hate mucking stalls. Why is Colt just sitting there on the porch? Uselessly. But if I allow him to assist, he'll think I'm needy. Helpless. That I require his presence to maintain my homestead.
I don't. I stepped inside the barn's cool interior and headed toward a mass on the ground.
My jack. Just what I need, a donkey's carcass. More work. This must be some joke. Who's laughing? Great. Somebody has to drag the animal's body out of the barn. Thomas hasn't got enough hands for dragging anything. There's Colt. But I can take care of my own problems. I don't need to let him think I need him to manage the homestead. This is my home where she who has the most hands reigns. I have the training to take care of this homestead as much as any man.
Well, it's not like Colt is trying to take over. No. The fact is he didn't bother me while I replaced the windmill's broken fan blade. That's truly odd. It's like I'm equal to him or even equal to my uncle. I think. But this isn't the time to question something as confusing as male dominance AEI when I'm in charge. Who cares if the aliens catapulted life on Earth back to feudal times? This little oasis in the middle of nowhere is going to be run by a woman now. Do you hear that, universe? I leaned against the smooth wood of the jack-ass' stall and stared across the pen at our jenny.
What will she do all alone now? Drop that foal and then what? Walk in circles to pump water to the garden? Well, it's not like she needs a husband to function at that daily.
Isn't that ironic with all my uncle's thoughts about my life?
Good thing no one can hear my thoughts.
Damn Thomas. How dare he try to send me away with those Shifters. Thomas needs me. And as long as Colt stays out of my way, all will be well. Besides, the man anchoring our porch furniture to the weathered wooden beams offered Thomas a distraction--a visitor. Dear Thomas' love of highly-educated people like Shifters means Colt should provide endless discussions for Thomas while I tend to the chores. Anything that keeps Thomas busy and healing definitely ranks up at the top of my must-have-on-hand list with sharp cheddar cheese and blackberry wine. Even if I have to make both myself.
Milk to curdle.
Wine to check.
Hell, there's so much to do that it isn't funny. At least, I have last year's cheese and wine to tie me over through a few days' worth of obstacles. Well, until Colt discovers all my cheese and wine like Buck had. Buck could eat and drink more than anyone I'd ever seen. But that probably won't matter now. By the looks of the still, my aging cheese and brewing wine in the still's cellar probably blew up with Thomas' latest batch of beer. Better check both because they're a hot trade item. Dead donkeys aren't. I shoved off the jenny's pen and strode into warm sunlight.
I really ought to jerk that jack before he's squirming with maggots. What does jerked donkey taste like? It's got to be something people would trade for. Or something we'd eat if the going got tough. Yes. He needs to be butchered. After I check the still's basement.
No rest for the weary. Why should today be any different than every day?
By the time I'd worked my way around the sharp edges of the still's rubble, I didn't have much difficulty pulling the wooden-slab of a door upward. Although, the wood had caught a lot of flying metal scraps. The door worked fine. I made my way down the firm dark stairs with a hand on the smooth wooden stair rail, someone had installed ages ago, until I found the light switch around shoulder height along the rough cinder-block wall and flicked on the electric light, overhead.
Good thing Thomas had the forethought to set up an electrical circuit for lighting our homestead. Although, not many people ever saw one of our light bulbs glow while here trading. We'd kept them hidden in secret underground storage areas--just so we could keep our luxury items. However, the Parkers didn't seem to care that we didn't have observable electricity. No. They just blew the hell out of one of our outbuildings. If they'd just come to take over, they wouldn't have caused so much damage. No. They came for me. They'd probably want electricity too if they'd known about it.
I really need to keep people outside the gate when they come to trade. Or just not trade at all.
Something creaked behind me. I spun to find Colt's massive form stepping one dark combat boot down from the wooden stair steps onto the hard-packed earthen floor.
He scanned the room.
In all his enormous glory. Assessing. Never bothering to look my direction. Maybe that's good. Maybe he hasn't noticed I can't stop staring at him. Gods, he's gorgeous. Somebody needs to tell him to yank on a shirt. Or something.
He slowly studied the dusty wall of bottles laying on their sides in the pigeon-holed floor-to-ceiling storage wall Big Dack and Little Willy built me three years ago when I made so much wine we had it flowing out our ears. Or so they claimed. But those guys loved to tease. They weren't about to pass up a chance to store gold when they found it.
And the black gold of my dark wine is fine now. Thank the stars. Time to check the cheese. I headed for the door in the wall opposite the staircase.
The room sat as dark and cool as it always had. Soured milk rotting into absolute deliciousness. Thank goodness. Oh, and my little chunk of rotting tree trunk partially coated in horse manure sported the prettiest mushrooms. Little Willy called them Upstruts. When I'd asked Thomas why they were called that, he rambled on about the shape being phallic. Of course, a young girl would find a dictionary and look that word up.
"How many rooms are interconnected down here?" Colt asked in his deep resonating voice.
Almost intoxicating voice. Funny he'd talk when I'm thinking about phallic mushrooms. I turned.
He filled the doorway, gazing at the dozen large cheese rounds I nurtured on the shelves to his right.
Big. Muscles bulging. Patiently awaiting a replay. Fitting in perfectly among my little projects. How ironic that he walked into the room with phallic mushrooms. Gods, gulp down those unruly thoughts. What was he just asking? Rooms. Interconnected. Well, I guess we can't fear Shifters who saved our hides
. And he already knows about the secret room in the cabin. "Just four. This is my wine and cheese room." I waved at the mushrooms. "Among other things." I thrust my chin to the left. "We store everything else in the hidden room that way."
Besides, it would be tragic if he tried to enter the storage area, setting off the explosives and destroying his physique. And it's not like he can get in without my triggering the door to open. "But nobody can access the stores without my help." That should keep me alive. Right? Oh, who am I kidding. I want Colt alive. Oh lordy, I'd better not look all amazed by him again. "It's rigged with explosives." That should kick up more conversation. Just in case I'm still staring.
He blinked slowly.
Almost cautiously as if absorbing all the information. Or giving me time to scan him from head to the tip of his combat boot's black toe.
"And the fourth room?" He locked his alert gaze on me.
"On the other side of the still. Underground. It's Thomas' parts room."
He nodded as slowly as he'd thought moments before. "What are you doing down here?"
Like he needed to know.
"Do you need my assistance?" he added as if he could read my mind.
Well, I could be left alone. In peace. Today certainly could use some peace. Or he could flex those arms and heave. What a show that would prove to be. And it's not like he's pestered me to death. No. He's not like Buck. "Alright." I planted my palms on my hips. "But I make the decisions."
His nod started before I finished hissing the "s" at the end of decisions.
Oh, who am I fooling? He's too helpful. Almost like he's waiting for me to expose some flesh for him to bite. Thomas probably told him to. He needs to stay busy. "You'd help me even more if you could move that donkey carcass to where I can butcher him."
"Even better. I'll find Stag to start that for you." He pivoted and vanished.
None too soon. I don't need to lose my mind with all his breathtaking limbs hovering so closely. What's wrong with me? Normals blasted our homestead to bits. Thomas could have bled to death and can still die of infection. And I'm thinking about a man. Not any man. A Shifter who can read Normals with his extra Wolf senses. Can read me. I've got to be careful.
Blackberry Wine Page 4