Hard Landing

by Ophelia Sexton

  He thinks I'm gorgeous? Michelle thought in disbelief.

  Carl raised her hand to his lips. There was that electric tingle again as his warm lips placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles, the stiff bristles of the stubble on his upper lip brushing her skin.

  Michelle's throat went dry as her earlier need to kiss him returned, even stronger than before. She pushed back her chair and stood, and came around the table, her left hand still firmly in his grasp.

  "I don't know what it is about you—" she began, touching his cheek with her free hand.

  "But you feel it too, don't you?" he asked in a low voice, gazing up at her with heat and hunger.

  Oh yeah, she thought.

  She swayed a little and began to bend towards him, drawn to his mouth by an irresistible force.

  Then her phone rang.

  Startled, she pulled away from him.

  Chapter 8

  Neighborly

  "Call from Dooley, D.," announced her phone's caller ID in a mechanical female voice.

  Since her closest neighbor wasn't the type to call her just to chat, Michelle reluctantly abandoned her plan to kiss her intriguing guest.

  Later, she promised herself. Especially since Carl had already told her that he was attracted to her.

  She looked at the cascade of raindrops pounding against the bay windows of her breakfast nook, and experienced a twinge of apprehension.

  Whatever Dennis was calling about, it probably wasn't good news, not with this kind of wild weather outside.

  "Sorry, it's my neighbor—I should answer that," Michelle said apologetically.

  Carl looked disappointed but released her hand.

  The sensation of his touch lingered against her skin as she walked over to where her phone sat on the counter.

  "Evening, Michelle! Hell of a storm, ain't it?" Dennis boomed when she answered.

  "It's coming down pretty hard," she agreed. "I heard that there've been a couple of major landslides on the roads around here."

  "Yeah, terrible," Dennis said. "The highway was still closed when I checked a few minutes ago, and I heard that Upper Missionary Ridge Road is blocked by a big slide as well."

  "Is everything okay over at your place?" she asked.

  "Everything's fine," he assured her. "I just wanted to let you know that I found some of your goats in my orchard this afternoon. Looks like they took themselves for a little stroll and treated themselves to some of the fallen apples."

  Michelle breathed out relief. She had felt sick when she and Beto had finished rounding up their strays, and a livestock headcount had revealed that three of her precious Pashmina does were missing.

  "I can't tell you how glad I am to hear that," she said. "Something big tore down a section of my fence last night, and my entire flock high-tailed it out of there. I found most of them in a meadow halfway up the mountain, but I've really worried about those three."

  "Sounds like you got a visit from the same bear that I chased out of my orchard yesterday," Dennis commented. "I know you probably don’t know much about bears, being a city girl and all, but I'd be glad to give you some advice about keeping them away from your livestock. It could be disastrous if this bear was still hanging around when your goats drop their kids next spring."

  "Thanks," Michelle said, as politely as she could through gritted teeth.

  He's just trying to be neighborly and helpful, she told herself, trying to quell her irritation. If only he didn't manage to mention that I'm a city girl and apparently know nothing every single time we talk!

  She added, "And I really appreciate you letting me know that you found my does."

  In addition to being her closest neighbor, Dennis had been the original owner of this ranch, and she frequently got the feeling that he still considered her property part of his domain.

  Right around the time when she had been looking for a post-divorce refuge, he had put a ten-acre parcel of his much larger cattle ranch up for sale.

  The parcel had been advertised as a small ranch in its own right, because it included a small stream plus a two-bedroom foreman's house, an old pole barn, and a one-bedroom cottage.

  Michelle had found the listing on a real estate website, realized that it was the perfect size for the number of livestock she was planning to acquire, and had fallen in love with the incredible mountain scenery.

  Ever since she bought the property, he had been super friendly and helpful…and persistent about asking her over.

  Sure enough, his next words were, "Why don't you come on over? I'll feed you dinner and then help you load your goats in your pickup."

  Michelle had accepted his very first dinner invitation back when she had first moved to her new property. He'd been friendly enough, but after he told her that he was a widower, she had gotten the unmistakable vibe that he was on the hunt for a new wife.

  He wasn't her type. And even if he had been, she'd just extricated herself from one marriage and most definitely wasn't game for another one.

  Ever since, she had been walking a fine line with him, trying to avoid encouraging any romantic interest on his part while still being friendly and neighborly. It was a difficult balancing act, because he didn't seem to be getting the hint.

  This time, at least, she had the perfect excuse for not accepting his dinner invitation. "Hey, thanks, I appreciate the offer, but I actually have a friend visiting right now." She shot Carl a glance and saw that he was watching her intently.

  And probably listening to both sides of this conversation, she thought, remembering that he apparently had super-hearing.

  She continued, "And we're having dinner now. But I'll drive over as soon as we finish and collect my little troublemakers."

  "Oh, okay. Sure thing." Dennis sounded disappointed. "I'll see you soon, then."

  "Soon as I can," Michelle said. "Bye for now!"

  She disconnected and hurried back to her dinner, thinking it would be a crime to let food this good grow cold.

  "One of your neighbors?" Carl asked casually.

  The look in his eyes, which were flecked with gold again, was anything but casual. Michelle blinked. Is he jealous?

  "Yeah," she said. She spooned up more of the delicious stew and sighed. "I know he's trying to be nice and helpful, but he treats me like I don't have a clue about what I'm doing. I might just be an accountant from the big city, but I've been running this place for almost two years now, and I've learned a few things."

  "From his point of view," Carl pointed out, "if you weren't born and raised on a ranch, you're probably going to be considered a newcomer forever."

  "Don't I know it!" Michelle said, vehemently. "Half the time, I get the feeling that he never really let go of the idea that this land still belongs to him. He's constantly giving me advice and trying to convince me that cattle are a better investment."

  Carl nodded sympathetically.

  "So I couldn’t help overhearing," he ventured. "A bear knocked down your fences, huh? Did it kill any of your livestock?"

  "Not this time, thank goodness," Michelle said.

  "I know black bears," Carl said. "If you scare them badly enough, they won't come back again." He paused, then offered, sounding a little shy, "If you like…once my leg has healed up a bit, I could shift back to my wolf shape and help chase it off the next time it comes by to harass your livestock."

  Michelle remembered the damage done to the wire panels of her fence. Whatever had bent and mutilated the heavy-gauge wire had been big and scarily strong. "I'm worried that it might be a grizzly. Whatever took out my fences this time was really big and really strong."

  Instead of automatically pooh-poohing her the way that Dennis—or Austin, for that matter—would have, Carl pursed his lips thoughtfully. "If it's a grizzly, then we're talking a whole different ball game. Without my pack to back me up, I'd have to think about the best approach."

  "Thanks, I'd appreciate that," Michelle said, picking up her spoon. "Then I guess first we need to fin
d out what we're dealing with. And we're not going to do that tonight, not with this storm."

  "At least you know your missing stock is safe," Carl said.

  "I was really worried," she told him. "I know I shouldn't get attached to my livestock, but they have real personalities! They're smart and funny and stubborn. Besides, they are so expensive to replace, and I lost two goats the last time that bear—or whatever—broke the fence. Losing three more would be…disastrous."

  Carl's expression was filled with compassion as he nodded.

  It was difficult to admit, even to herself, how close she was skating to ruin right now. Come spring, she would need every kid and baby alpaca, not to mention every ounce of precious cashmere and alpaca wool, to make ends meet.

  ◆◆◆

  Carl had always prided himself about having his human side in the driver's seat while some of his packmates struggled with controlling their wolf spirits.

  Thanks to the cataclysmic events of this afternoon, he was forced to confront the possibility that perhaps the reason he'd remained comfortably in control all these years was because his wolf had let him.

  It was…humbling.

  While Michelle was out rounding up her stray livestock, it had taken him a while to recover from the shock that his wolf was able to take control so easily.

  Now, as they finished their first helpings of the chicken and dumplings, Carl contemplated his next move.

  It was clear that his wolf wasn’t going to rest until it had claimed her as their mate.

  To be honest, Carl didn't totally hate the idea.

  He'd been attracted to the gorgeous rancher at first sight, and the more he learned about her, the more he realized that she was the kind of strong, competent woman who would be an asset to his pack.

  Except that she's an Ordinary, he reminded himself.

  He didn't want to think about what might happen if he informed his parents—and by extension his pack—that he was rejecting the mating that they had arranged for him in favor of a woman who wasn't a wolf shifter…or any kind of shifter, for that matter.

  And his human half was reluctant to rush into the lifelong commitment that was a shifter mating. Especially since non-shifters didn't form permanent and irrevocable mating bonds the way that shifters did.

  He'd use his time here to get to know her better. And then we'll see…

  She's our mate, his wolf said. It had become a litany. She didn't reject us when you told her the truth about us, it added, sounding almost plaintive. And she still wants to have sex with us.

  Carl remembered the almost-kiss just before they so rudely interrupted, and regretted not being able to find out what her mouth tasted like. And where a kiss might take them.

  Later, he promised himself. Even with the accelerated healing abilities that being a shifter gave him, he was still going to be here for at least three or four days.

  He studied the lovely but tired-looking woman who sat across from him, eating the food he had prepared for her. The sight satisfied a primal urge to care for her, and seemed to lift some of the burden obviously weighing her down.

  Scaring off a nuisance bear was just all in a day's work for a wolf shifter. He wanted to shift on the spot and charge out into the heart of the storm and prove his willingness to protect her.

  But his leg was throbbing, and he knew that shifting twice in one day would only slow down his body's ability to heal the deep wound.

  "More?" she asked, rising from the table, her empty bowl in one hand. "I know I want seconds."

  "Glad you like it," he said with another spurt of satisfaction.

  He handed her his own bowl.

  Michelle's fingers brushed his, sending another of those exciting frissons singing down his nerves. She smiled down at him, her brown eyes filled with warmth. "When you live alone, any meal you don't have to cook for yourself is a good meal." She paused and added, "And this is really good."

  She turned to go refill the bowls from the pot warming on the stovetop. Carl admired the sway of her generous hips as she walked, and the way that her jeans hugged the curves of her ass and thighs.

  When she returned to the table, he refilled their wine glasses. "So you're ranching goats? Do you have other livestock?"

  She shot him a distinctly wary glance, and he wondered whether she expected him to lecture her the same way that her neighbor had.

  "It's primarily goats," she replied, "but I do have four alpacas, my stud Alfred and three females, Abby, Alice, and Adelaide."

  "Alfred and I have met," he reminded her wryly.

  Michelle nodded. "They're mostly there to help Cookie and Biscuit guard the goats against coyotes and feral dogs, but their fleeces produce premium wool too."

  "Are you doing meat goats or dairy?" He dug into his second helping of chicken and dumplings.

  Dinner had turned out even better than he had hoped when he had rummaged through her fridge and cupboards, trying to determine what he could cook from the available ingredients. Best of all, Michelle evidently liked it too.

  She finished swallowing her mouthful and patted her lips before replying.

  "Neither. I'm raising Pashmina goats—they're a breed originally from Tibet and Nepal that produce an ultra-fine grade of cashmere. This is a ranch for premium wools, not meat. I have a mail-order business that ships sustainably produced wool directly to mostly textile hobbyists like dyers, spinners, and felters."

  His surprise must have shown, because she added, "I did my homework and drew up a business plan before I bought this place. Pashmina goats are extremely hardy and adapted to living at high altitude."

  "I believe you," Carl said. "I don't know much about goats, but I've seen how expensive pashmina scarves are. And I'm impressed that you did research and a business plan before committing to a ranch. You'd be surprised at how many people decide to invest in a ranch or a farm without having any real idea of what they're getting into."

  "Well, I used to be an accountant. It never occurred to me to ignore the financials." Michelle's stiff, defensive posture relaxed. "Dennis hasn’t actually come right out and said that he thinks I'm pursuing a crazy hobby, but he sure as hell is thinking it every time we talk."

  She was an accountant? Carl tucked away that piece of information like a precious nugget and smiled at her. "Sounds like some of my parents' neighbors in Alaska. If you talk to Fred Tikon, who owns a cattle ranch next to ours, then the Eppersons down the road are crazy for raising elk instead of beef. And the Eppersons can't believe that the Tuckers think that reindeer are a viable business model. And don't get me started on what my parents think about the new musk ox farm on the other end of the valley…"

  "It's a different world out here, for sure," Michelle agreed. "I won't lie—even with all the homework I did before buying this place, it's been a steep learning curve. Last year, I made ends meet by trucking my goats down to the lowlands and renting them out to do weed control and brush clearance."

  "So you're not from a ranching family?" Carl had spent his entire adult life trying to avoid being tied down to his parents' ranch. He found it fascinating that Michelle had apparently abandoned a comfortable, steady desk job in the city for the hard, mostly thankless work with livestock.

  She shook her head. "I inherited some money from my abuela, my grandmother. She and my abuelo, my grandfather, immigrated from Mexico. They started a restaurant and catering business and worked their asses off to make it a success. My abuela kept it going for many years after my abuelo passed away. After my divorce, I really needed to make a fresh start, somewhere far away from my ex-husband and Littleton. When I saw the property listing for this place and drove here for a weekend visit to check it, it just felt…right."

  She's divorced? Carl was intensely curious about what kind of idiot had been responsible for sending this smart, beautiful woman fleeing to a remote mountain ranch.

  "What does your family think about this place?"

  "They all think that I wasted my inheritan
ce on a crazy venture." She shrugged. "Except for my little brother, no one's bothered to visit my place."

  Carl saw the shadow of old pain in her eyes, and ached to comfort her. She met his gaze for a long moment before looking away."

  "I don’t really blame them," she continued." My parents got divorced when I was a junior in high school. Papá moved to San Diego and remarried. Mamá…well, she drinks too much. When she's sober, she's great. But when she's been drinking…" Michelle sighed. "Well, I sort of ended up raising my little brother Roberto. When I moved out here, Mamá found out that he was getting in trouble back home. She begged me to take him in. He's family, so I couldn't say no."