Hard Landing

by Ophelia Sexton

  But without the whole Courtney affair, Michelle might have kept trying to make her marriage work. Even knowing that Austin had checked out of their marriage long before he took up with their neighbor, filing for divorce had been the worst defeat that Michelle had ever experienced.

  It was only later that she realized how much easier her life got once Austin moved out. She was sad and angry, but mostly, she was relieved at not having to deal with him anymore.

  I loved him so much when we first met. How did it all go so wrong? What did I do to make him stop loving me?

  She was settling into a routine at her ranch when Mamá had phoned her in tears, complaining that since Michelle's departure, Beto had fallen in with a bad crowd of friends.

  "I'm so worried about him! None of this would have happened if you hadn't abandoned us, Mica!" Mamá had sobbed, using Michelle's childhood nickname.

  In the end, Mamá had managed to get what she wanted. She had guilted Michelle into agreeing to let Beto move to the ranch as her helper.

  Michelle, who was overwhelmed with how much she had left to learn about managing her goats and alpacas, had agreed because the prospect of having her little brother around to help with the endless round of chores had sounded good.

  And so, Michelle once again found herself her brother's keeper, just like she'd been all throughout her high school years.

  At first, Beto had hated everything about living at the ranch.

  He missed living in the suburbs, missed having an Internet connection fast enough to play video games with his friends, and complained constantly about having to help Michelle with her chores.

  Even the fact that he'd apparently hated living with Mamá, and now Michelle was letting him live rent-free in the small worker's cottage on her property, didn't seem to make him happy.

  He spent a lot of time talking about his plans for his share of the inheritance that their beloved abuela Consuelo had left them.

  Listening to him describe his plans to buy a big, flashy gaming system, a giant TV, and a sports car, Michelle realized that her abuela, who had been a successful businesswoman, had been smart to stipulate in her will that her grandchildren's inheritances wouldn't be paid out until they turned twenty-five.

  "We have to finish fixing the fence now, because I don’t want to spend hours tomorrow searching the forest for the goats again. In case you hadn't noticed, all of them escaped this time, and the alpacas, too," Michelle snapped at her brother.

  Three of her goats were still out there somewhere in the storm-lashed forest. Based on her previous experience, she'd lie awake for hours tonight, worrying that they'd become easy prey for something with fangs and claws before she could set out at dawn and search for them.

  With an effort she softened her tone. "We're almost done, manito. Just four panels left to go. If you hold that one for me, I'll get it nailed up in a jiffy."

  While she'd been out rounding up her strayed flock, Beto had managed to clear away those fence panels that would need repair and to fetch a set of replacement panels from the storage shed.

  Whatever had broken into the pasture last night had been big and immensely strong. It had torn away a series of panels along the fence line separating Michelle's pasture from San Juan National Forest lands, pulling at the panels until the nails fastening them came loose from the fence post.

  Looking at the damage, Michelle thought that the invader had probably been a bear. Even the strongest and most determined of her goats wouldn't have been able to butt and push the panels loose.

  At least it had left the thick wooden fenceposts intact. Michelle had tested each of them, set in concrete-filled postholes three feet deep along the damaged section of her fence line, and had found them still rock-solid.

  That's one good piece of news in an awful day, she thought.

  She and Beto had been out here for the last hour and a half, and the light was fading fast.

  Lifting and fastening the replacement panels to the fence posts was a two-person job. She only hoped that they could complete the repairs before night fell.

  As they worked, the storm had been worsening, with strong winds whipping bursts of stinging hailstones and torrential downpours of cold rain at them.

  Her rain gear kept her upper body relatively dry, but her lower legs and feet were quickly soaked to the skin, her boots and jeans sodden and cold.

  "I don't understand why you're so obsessed with living out here in Nowhereland," Beto continued. He looked just as miserable as she felt. Water poured off the brim of his cowboy hat, and his rain poncho flapped in the wind, exposing the sleeves of his sweatshirt and soaking his arms to the elbows. "I mean, you could sell this place back to Mr. Dooley in a heartbeat, and then we could move back to Littleton."

  "Not a chance," Michelle told him firmly. She couldn't help adding, "I mean, you can move back anytime you like. But I'm staying put."

  Beto scowled at her, probably because he knew as well as she did that he couldn't afford to go anywhere right now.

  If you didn't blow your earnings on video games and pot in town every Saturday, you might be able to afford your own place somewhere else. She bit her tongue and didn't say that part out loud. Beto was old enough to do the math. He just needed to grow up and take control of his own life.

  In silence, she and Beto lifted and nailed the remaining fence panels. While she worked, Michelle found herself replaying the strange conversation she'd had with her unexpected guest.

  If I hadn't seen him transform from wolf to man with my own eyes, I'd think he was crazy.

  Why does he want to stay at my place?

  What does he want from me?

  And she couldn't stop thinking about the unexpected shock that had run through her when his big hand had closed around hers, and about the strange spell that his intense sapphire-blue gaze cast over her.

  In that moment of contact, she had been shocked by her intense desire to lean in and kiss him.

  Yeah, great job, chica, she scolded herself. Didn't I learn my lesson with Austin? And now I've got the hots for a crazy werewolf firefighter who's invited himself to stay?

  She knew she should be worried about whether she was in danger. Or at least annoyed by the fact that Carl had parked himself at her house for God only knew how long, because the very last thing she needed right now was a guest to feed and entertain.

  But damn if he isn't the hottest guy I've met. Even if he is a werewolf. Shapeshifter. Whatever.

  With an effort, she tore her thoughts away from fantasizing about running her hands over every inch of his long, heavily muscled body.

  "Almost done," she called to Beto. "Just two more panels to go!"

  "Yeah, whatever," he said in a monotone. "I want a hot shower. And I'm starving."

  In the excitement of finding Carl in the forest and trying to get him down the mountainside, as well as retrieving her livestock, Michelle hadn't had time to eat lunch.

  Now that Beto mentioned it, she realized she was ravenously hungry. And her unwelcome guest was probably sitting back at the house, waiting for dinner.

  She was so tired. The prospect of having to cook something, do dishes, and clean up her kitchen was daunting. She sighed and tried to think of something quick, hot, and filling that she could prepare once she got back to the ranch house.

  "You want to come over for dinner?" she asked.

  Beto shook his head, sending a spray of water flying from his hat brim. "Nah, that'll take too long. I have a frozen pizza."

  Michelle wished she had thought to stock some frozen dinners for herself, instead of deciding that she wanted to lead a healthier lifestyle and cook all of her meals from scratch using produce from her vegetable garden.

  ◆◆◆

  When she opened the door and stepped inside her house a half-hour later, a wave of mouthwatering smells swept over her and greeted her like a warm hug.

  She came to a halt in the small mudroom and inhaled the delicious, savory, completely unexpected
scent of cooking food.

  "Welcome back!" Carl's deep voice called from the direction of her kitchen. "I hope you don't mind that I got dinner started. Do you like chicken and dumplings?"

  "Yes," she called back.

  Suddenly, the fact that she was dog-tired, wet, and shivering wasn't quite as overwhelming as it had on the long, weary slog from the pasture up to her house.

  Feeling a burst of renewed energy, she quickly peeled out of her raincoat and reached for a towel to dry her face and hands before bending to unlace her boots.

  He cooked me dinner? Michelle's simmering resentment about Carl blackmailing her into letting him stay at her house dissipated like morning mist in summer sunlight.

  Okay, Carl the werewolf dude can stay here as long as he likes, a voice in her head announced. This was the same voice that usually served as the voice of reason and tried to talk Michelle out doing anything stupid.

  Right, so he's suddenly A-OK because he can cook? Michelle asked herself.

  During the whole time she had been married to Austin, her husband had never once cooked her dinner, not even during tax season, when she had been working crazy overtime.

  Hell yeah, her voice said, simply.

  It might have been the intoxicating smell of food, but something seemed to zing straight to her primal brain and sent a warm ripple of happiness through every inch of her cold, damp body.

  "I hope to God you're not married or anything," she murmured under her breath as she headed down the hall leading to the kitchen in her damp sock-clad feet.

  "Nope, I'm single and available," Carl called from the kitchen.

  Michelle froze, mortified. "How the hell—?" she began, then groaned. "Oh, please don't tell me that your shapeshifter thing comes with super-hearing?"

  He chuckled. "I could deny it, but I'd be lying."

  Michelle groaned.

  But her embarrassment didn't stop her from following the siren scent of dinner to her kitchen.

  It was a cramped, U-shaped space that still had its original forty-year-old appliances, chipped and cracked tile countertops, and ugly wooden cabinets as well as a worn linoleum floor with a pattern that mimicked off-white tiles.

  It was ugly and badly needed a renovation, but it was hers. And all the appliances still worked just fine.

  When she entered the kitchen, Carl stood at the stove. Both of her dogs sat just outside the U of cabinets, apparently torn between deep wariness and hope that something tasty might accidentally fall to the floor.

  Her guest was using a butcher knife to sweep miniature triangles of biscuit dough from a wooden cutting board into a simmering pot of rich broth crowded with pieces of meat and chopped vegetables.

  "That smells amazing," she breathed, coming over to stand next to him.

  That won her a dazzling smile. She noticed that he had donned one of her aprons, printed with an invitation to "Kiss the Cook!"

  Don't tempt me, she thought.

  Then she noticed that he was putting nearly all of his weight on his good leg. A pang of guilt shot through her at letting a guest—even an uninvited one—work.

  "Here, let me," she said, and reached for the wooden cooking spoon in his hand.

  He held it out of reach, giving her one of those heart-stopping smiles.

  "I'm fine," he said firmly. "Go, sit. The dumplings will be all cooked and ready in just a minute."

  Michelle glanced over to the small table in her breakfast nook and was pleasantly surprised to see it already set with bowls, silverware, and wine glasses. A bottle of California Pinot Noir from her wine rack had been opened and stood on the table.

  Given his earlier demands, she had been expecting to have to serve him hand and foot during his recuperation, on top of her normal work.

  After all, that had been her experience with all of the men in her life so far.

  Papá, Beto, Austin, all of them had treated mealtimes as an excuse to sit and wait for food to magically appear before them, claiming they were too tired from work or school to help Mamá and Michelle cook or clean up.

  Never mind that both Mamá and Michelle had also been working full-time jobs of their own.

  At the time, the fact that the women prepared all the family's meals had just been part of normal life.

  In the days and weeks after Austin had moved out of their apartment in Littleton, Michelle had been surprised to realize that her workload had actually decreased when she only had to worry about taking care of herself.

  It had been liberating to come home after a long day at the office and just heat up some leftovers for herself. She often ate dinner while sitting on the couch with a glass of wine and the evening news.

  That's when Michelle had decided that she would never get married again.

  Now, here was this injured guy hobbling around her kitchen with the aid of one of her hiking poles. The sight of it gave her a renewed twinge of guilt.

  Not to mention that he was her guest, and she'd been raised with strict guidelines about how you treated guests. Guidelines that most definitely didn't include sitting while a guest stood at a stove and cooked.

  "At least let me help carry something to the table," she said, perching on the edge of a chair.

  "Okay," Carl replied cheerfully, "You can bring over the bowls, if you like, and I'll dish up the chicken and dumplings."

  "I can't believe you made dinner. With that leg, you should be in bed or at least on the couch," she scolded as she picked up the bowls and carried them over to the stove.

  "I like keeping busy," Carl replied. "Plus, I'll heal up faster if I'm actually up and moving around."

  He filled both bowls and followed her to the table.

  There, he lowered himself into a chair with a grimace, and she realized that he must be in more discomfort than his breezy replies earlier had indicated.

  She bent her head to say a quick, silent grace, thankful beyond measure that the sexiest man she'd ever met—werewolf or not—had prepared a hot meal right when she needed it most.

  Then she took her first mouthful of the hot stew, redolent with fresh garlic, sage, thyme, and rosemary from her kitchen garden, thick with foraged mushrooms and home-grown carrots, celery, and onions with pieces of diced chicken left over from a roaster she had purchased from the ranch down the road. The tiny dumplings had puffed up to twice their original size. They were fluffy and speckled with minced herbs.

  She swallowed, closing her eyes in bliss as warmth expanded in her stomach.

  When she opened them again, Carl was looking at her expectantly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  "It's delicious," she informed him. "Thank you so much. But I'm not sure what I've done to deserve being spoiled like this."

  His cheerful expression sobered. "Because I wanted to thank you for letting me stay here."

  She ate a second spoonful of the savory stew, mulling over her next words.

  "That's the part I can't figure out," she said. "Why do you want to stay here instead of going back to, uh, your base or wherever? I've been trying to figure it out all afternoon, and the only thing I've come up with is that you're planning to get back at me for shooting you."

  His golden brows shot up in surprise at her words. Then the corners of his gorgeous eyes crinkled in amusement.

  Her gaze dropped to the steaming bowl in front of her. "If cooking me dinner is part of your evil revenge plot, I'm all for it."

  Carl laughed, a deep rumbling sound that pleased her ears. "I'm not mad that you shot me, especially since I only ended up with a scratch. I mean, I was in wolf shape after all, and I know what it probably looked like when your attack alpaca tried to kick me into tomorrow. There's no way you could have known who or what I really was." He took a sip from his wine glass. "Would you believe that I just wanted to get to know you better, Michelle?"

  It was her turn to raise her brows at him. "Really?" she asked skeptically.

  He nodded. "I felt a connection the moment we met…didn
't you?"

  "You mean, the kind of connection where I shot you on sight? Are you crazy?" she demanded.

  "Or you were just playing hard to get?" He grinned, and she couldn't believe how blasé he was about the fact that she'd almost killed him by mistake. "As for being crazy, well, I’m a guy who jumps out of airplanes and spends days in the wilderness fighting fires with a bunch of chainsaws and gardening tools."

  "Good point," she agreed.

  He leaned forward and reached across the table to take her free hand. "My wolf likes you too, Michelle. Maybe getting shot by a gorgeous rancher is his special little kink."