Читать книгу The Witch And The Werewolf - Michele Hauf - Страница 11

Chapter 4

Saturday evening Lars stopped into the brewery. Mireio was ready to go, waiting for him by the door. She bounced on her high heels and her short multiruffled purple skirt caught his eye. And dangling near that skirt was the black fish purse. The woman was a character. And she was going out with him tonight.

He was the luckiest guy in the world.

Mireio waved goodbye to a woman behind the bar with dark hair and a calm, knowing smile, whom Lars waved to, as well. He hadn’t been introduced, but did know Valor Hearst, who also worked here. She and Sunday, his pack leader’s wife, were friends, so Valor popped up at the compound once in a while. They always chatted bees for a while when she did so.

“Where are we going tonight?” Mireio asked as she joined him and slipped her hand into his.

Momentarily captivated by the warm slender hand in his, Lars took a few seconds to answer. It actually took a squeeze from her hand to lure him back to what she’d asked.

“Uh, where? There’s a new place in Tangle Lake. Supposed to be fancy and the scenery is pretty cool. You like a steak house?”

“Sure. I like all food. Your hand is so big and—” she turned it over to inspect as they strolled toward the parking lot “—rough. You must do a lot of physical labor.”

“I’ve cleared out some fallen oaks from the forest near my place, so I’ve been chopping and stacking wood for winter fires. As well as doing some repair work on the plank path that leads to the outhouse.”

“I need to see that outhouse one of these days. I can’t imagine having to walk outside to get to the bathroom.”

“I’m sure your bathroom with the big tub puts my little outhouse to shame.”

“Oh, I’m sure it does.” She skipped a few steps up to the charcoal gray truck. “This is yours? You men and your big trucks. You’re going to have to boost me up for this one.”

He opened the passenger door for her and held her hand as she stepped onto the lower step. Even then she had to stretch up a leg, and...he put a hand to her hip to guide her. He wanted to give a shove to that sweet little derriere, but that might be too forward. He was the kind of guy who would never manhandle a woman. Unless she’d given him permission to do so. And then he would enjoy touching her with abandon.

“I’m in!” she announced with a clap. “Let’s do this!”

Chuckling at her enthusiasm, Lars rounded the front of the truck and hopped inside and started the engine. “How’s business tonight?”

“It’s a Saturday,” she said as he drove out of the lot. “Comedy night.”

“Really? Like stand-up?”

“Yes, and tonight is locals only. It’s a big hit. There are some ridiculously hilarious people living in Anoka.”

“You like music?” he asked, turning on the radio low.

“I love the oldies stuff like the ’80s tunes.”

“I think I know the station for you.” He turned the dial to an ’80s hit station, one of his favorites too, despite having missed the era because he’d been born in the late ’80s. Culture Club was playing and Mireio gave him a thumbs-up.

“Did you eat all the bread I sent home with you?” she asked.

“Most of it. Had sandwiches for lunch, with enough left for a French toast breakfast tomorrow. You make great bread.”

“You’ll have to stop by when I’m in a cupcake-baking mood.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Temptation is my thing, don’t you know?”

He waggled his brows at her.

She giggled. “You’re starting to loosen up around me. You were pretty shy initially.”

He shrugged as he turned onto the freeway that would take them to their destination. “You’re just so pretty. I admit I’m intimidated by most women. You’re all so...tiny.”

“That is understandable, coming from a big beast of a man. How tall are you?”

“Six and a half feet? Something like that.”

“Good thing I like wearing heels. Oh! I love this song!”

Adam Ant’s “Desperate But Not Serious” started playing and Lars turned it up. He would never consider himself desperate for a woman. But would he like to get serious with one? Hell yes. And Mireio Malory seemed a very good option.

* * *

The view was gorgeous, as promised. They sat on a patio situated about thirty feet from the lakeshore. The sun settled above the jagged line of pines across the lake, casting pink and silver shimmers on the water and the night air was surprisingly warm for spring. A fountain nestled in the center of the small lake burbled and a pair of white swans floated close by. Fortunately it was too early in the season for mosquitoes.

The brown butter shrimp with Gouda grits was excellent. The red wine sweet and not too dry. And the man sharing shy glances with her was slowly moving up to broadcasting more confidence in his brown eyes.

Mireio had never dated a man who wasn’t in her face and always dropping innuendos about them doing it. Sure, she had dated a few who were polite, but none so sweetly masculine and devastatingly charming as this guy. A werewolf? She’d dated witches, faeries and once even a demon. But a wolf was new to her, and she was excited about the possibilities of learning more about this sweetie.

“I lost the muskie after that struggle,” Lars said, ending his tale about ice fishing without an ice house or a line in the middle of what had turned into an ice storm.

“Do wolves have a greater affinity for cold weather?” she wondered.

“Yes, we can handle the Minnesota winters well. But I do like to bundle up when I know a storm is headed our way. That one took me by surprise. Froze my beard something fierce.”

“Ha! I hope you had someone to help you defrost it with snuggly kisses.”

He shrugged, that bashful move that endeared her to his big, awkward appeal. “I was out with the guys. We never mix fishing and women. You ladies just don’t get it.”

“Oh, I think Valor is into ice fishing. But there are times I wonder if she’s more a guy than a girl. I don’t think I’d like to lie on the ice and dip my hand in the cold waters in hopes a fish will find me of interest,” she said. Which was exactly how Lars had explained they’d done it. “I admit the winter bothers me. I need a big thick sweater to keep from constantly shivering. I prefer spring and summer. And warmth.”

“Your tail would freeze in the winter,” he said with a wink.

“Which tail are you talking about?” she asked teasingly.

“Both?”

“Ha!” She tilted her wine goblet to his and he met it with a tink. “To breezy summers and warm winter nights. And while we’re at it, let’s toss in a long life of immortal dreams.”

“Immortal dreams?”

She shrugged. “It’s a witch thing. Just a spell I’ve had on my mind lately. Anyway, back to the fishing. I certainly hope to never get hooked by a fisherman anytime soon.”

“Is that so?”

“He’d rip my tail. And besides, we mermaids would never be caught swimming in any of Minnesota’s ten thousand icy lakes.”

“What sort of bait do you think would attract a mermaid?”

She leaned across the table and the small heat from the candle warmed her cheek. “Kindness and a sexy shy smile.”

And there it was again! Those dimples were mermaid bait for sure. But to think about it, she’d hooked him. And this was one catch she wasn’t eager to toss back.

The waitress stopped by with the bill and Lars dug out his wallet from a back pocket and handed her his credit card.

“So what do you like to do for fun?” he asked. “I’ve already marked ice fishing off the potential date list.”

“I don’t have to be entertained in any wild or elaborate fashion. A movie. A book club. Dancing, or even just sitting in a park. I’m a chick who can find fun in most anything.”

“I get that. You’re what they call one of those eclectic women,” he said with a wink. “Your bright hair and frilly clothes tell me that.”

“How else is a girl supposed to dress?”

“You won’t hear me complaining. But what’s with the purse?”

She lifted her purse. A cool find on Etsy, crafted from black suede in layers that emulated a fish with scales. “Mermaid, remember?”

“Right. Let me guess... You’re the chick at the summer festivals with the flowers in your hair, dancing in the mud with bare feet and not a care?”

“You got it.”

“I think I’m the guy always standing off to the side, wondering if that beautiful blossom of a chick will ever notice him.”

She placed her hand over his. “I have noticed you, Lars. And I think you’re pretty cool. I’ll get you in daisies and bare feet before the summer is out. Promise.”

“I’d actually wear daisies for you. So why don’t we...” He paused, staring off over the lake with the swans floating by.

The pause was...quite long. “Lars?”

“Huh? Oh. Sorry, lost my train of thought. What were we talking about?”

Daisies and flirtation. “Nothing much.” But it was time to move it up to the next level. “Now do you know what I want to do?”

“What?”

“You said you live close?”

“About ten miles north.”

“Then I want to see this mysterious outhouse with the modern plumbing.”

He smirked and collected his credit card as the waitress swung by with it. But instead of dimples, he rubbed his jaw, with a wince. “I’m not sure. I have to make a stop on the way home, actually...”

“Am I being too forward? I’m not suggesting anything. I mean, am I? Maybe? If you’re not ready to take me home with you, just for chatting, I get that. You’re a guy who works more slowly than most.”

“Not at all. I can do fast. I’m very fast. I mean...” He swiped his fingers over his beard in what Mireio was learning was a nervous gesture. “I want to spend more time with you tonight, Mireio. I just, uh...well...” A heavy sigh surprised her. “You’ll need to know sooner rather than later. Guess now’s as good a time as any.”

“That sounds absolutely mysterious. But I’m in. Let’s go!”

Ten minutes later, they drove up the long driveway to the Northern Pack compound, which was where Lars had to make a stop. It wasn’t like a big military compound, which Mireio had expected, but rather a white plantation-style home with a massive tin-sided building out back that housed all kinds of building materials and lots of junk.

“So none of the pack members live here except Dean and Sunday?”

“Nope. We all live in the area, though. Packs used to share close living conditions, but you know, it’s the twenty-first century. We like our privacy as much as we like the family we get from being in the pack.” He parked before the house and swung around to open the door.

Just when she thought to step down, he lifted her and swung her out, setting her down carefully until she could get a sure footing with her heels on the gravel drive. How many times had a man helped her in and out of a vehicle? Exactly twice. Both of those times had been tonight. She could get used to this kind of chivalry.

“Shall we?” He offered his hand and that pushed her over the edge and into a giddy swoon.

She clasped his hand and beamed as he led her toward the front door, which opened to reveal a waving Sunday. The chick sported long, white-blond hair and was built like Valor—straight—and she seemed accustomed to hanging out in jeans and greasy T-shirts as opposed to frills and lace. She was a cat-shifting familiar, married to Dean Maverick, a werewolf and the pack principal.

“Hey, Lars!” A shout from near the storage building drew their attention to Dean standing near a huge steel beam he held at a diagonal, one end of it digging into the ground. “Come give me a hand!”

“Be right back,” Lars said. “Uh, you know Sunday?”

“We’ve met once,” Sunday confirmed.

Lars winked at Mireio. “This won’t take a minute!”

“Hey, Mireio.” Sunday gestured she come inside and held the screen door open for her. “I didn’t know you and Lars were a thing.”

She entered the house, which was dimly lit. The sun had set, and the soft kitchen lights gleamed on the white marble kitchen counter and copper toaster.

“Lars and I just started seeing one another. First official date tonight. Oh!” She spied a munchkin sitting in a baby seat on the kitchen table and her maternal instincts rushed her to check it out. “Who is this little sweetie? Can I hold him?”

“Sure, I just fed him. We call him Peanut.”

Mireio picked up the warm bundle of blue fleece and baby softness and he nuzzled against her chest. The scent of warm baby was better than baked bread or chocolate any day. She rubbed her palm lightly over the thick crop of black hair swished to a wave on top of his head. “So much hair! And it sticks straight up. Adorable. How old is he?”

“Uh, about four months?” Sunday leaned against the counter, her T-shirt falling from one bare shoulder and her hair a little tangled as if she’d been through a tough day. Or she simply wasn’t a fashion queen and didn’t often bother to comb her hair.

“Did you and Dean adopt?” Mireio knew, from Valor, that Sunday couldn’t have kids. Well, she could, but a cat shifter simply could not make a baby with a werewolf. Just didn’t work that way.

“No. He’s uh...” Sunday straightened and scratched her head. “You don’t know who Peanut is?”

“Should I?”

The front door opened and Lars and Dean wandered in, chuckling about almost dropping the steel beam, but finally getting it loaded into the back of Dean’s truck. Lars took one look at Mireio holding the baby and activated the nervous beard swipe.

“Hey,” she offered. “Isn’t he the cutest little button ever? He’s called Peanut.”

“I know that.” Lars exchanged glances with Sunday.

“I’ll leave you two.” The cat shifter left the kitchen swiftly, grabbing her husband’s hand and heading toward the front door. Dean protested with a “What’s up?” as his wife tugged him outside.

“What was that about?” Mireio bounced as she held the baby. It was a natural motion, instilled from years of babysitting. His plump little body felt so good snuggled against her breast and neck. Someday she would have a million kids. Or at the very least three or four. “She must be babysitting for someone, huh?”

“She is.” Lars smoothed his hand over the baby’s hair. “Peanut is mine, Mireio.”

“What?”

“He’s my son.”