Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“Of course I know her name,” I assured him. “Hannah sent her Christmas cookies, and I had to schlep them to the post office.”
“She did? You did?”
Jake groaned and then straightened up from his slouch against the kitchen counter and pointed at both of his friends. “You two need to pull your heads outta your asses and learn the names of people in your life.”
“He’s like that,” Harper said defensively, gesturing at Kola. “But I’m not. I value everyone in my life and know who they are.”
Hannah scoffed as she walked into the room. “You’re as clueless as Kola,” she assured him and then asked me to make her some hot chocolate. “By the way, your husband is passed out on the couch.”
I chuckled, and so did she.
Harper gasped. “Holy crap, B, what happened to your arm?”
It was actually fun listening to her explain it again. Jake chimed in as well, and it was nice to hear them finish each other’s sentences like they used to.
The weeks after Valentine’s Day were like they used to be before Hannah and Jake broke up, and I was ridiculously thankful. Harmony in my house was a good thing.
Hannah went back to therapy, and it was for the best, because not only did she have a bit of new trauma to discuss with Dr. Butler—almost dying in a fire was fairly serious—but talking to him about Jake was also helpful.
I liked spring. I enjoyed watching all the birds come back, the plants start to sprout, and even though it was still cold, there was more sun and less gray. Hannah loved the gray, she could have lived in Seattle easily, but I needed warm, bright sunshine on my face. Sam liked it too. Continual rain just made him grumpy.
In preparing for Ostara, Hannah was, as usual, collecting things to go into her sabbat candles, and the boys were prepared to pour and carry and help in all the ways they were used to. Sam was looking forward to having the coven back at our house, as happy as I was that Hannah and Jake had returned to where they started, as friends. As uncertain as Sam’s days were, his nights were calm.
When he got home on Friday afternoon, though, having left work early, because he did when it was at all possible to try and balance out the many, many times he couldn’t leave work at all, I heard him yell, and so, on cue, I went running.
“No!” he roared when I raced out onto the back deck and saw him standing in the driveway beside the fence. “Go back inside!”
He had his gun drawn, and I was terrified and so yelled at Hannah, who was around the side of the house, where she was planning to put in an herb garden.
She popped her head out to see why I was yelling. “Pa?”
“Hannah!” Sam rasped, his voice failing him. “Honey, don’t move!”
Staring at her father, following his line of vision, she understood before I did. “Dad, do not shoot Ian Doyle’s dog.”
It took a second for the words to filter into my husband’s brain.
“Chickie, come,” Hannah called to the wolf in our backyard.
He was big, 140 pounds, maybe 150, Hannah told me, of pure muscle. He was a Caucasian Ovcharka, or Caucasian shepherd dog, and malamute. Supposedly. He was clearly part wolf, it was easy to see, and when Hannah told me that Ian had originally gotten him when they apprehended a fugitive running an illegal dog-fighting ring, it only made more sense.
“Are you all right?” I called over to my husband, who had holstered his gun and was now leaning on our fence, having turned a terrible shade of greenish gray.
“I could’ve killed him,” he growled, upset at himself for acting without checking, but also, he’d been scared, and he hated that more than anything. Especially me being in danger and then Hannah. It was a nightmare scenario.
“I didn’t expect you until later,” I said as he finally got himself together and opened the gate. Chickie—strange name for a wolf, in my opinion—went trotting over to greet the chief deputy, and when he reached him, he sat down like a good boy.
Sam closed the gate and turned to the dog, took a breath, and crouched down so they were eye to eye as he petted him.
“You’re a beauty,” he murmured, and Chickie lapped up that attention, tail thumping wildly in the grass. “I bet no one goes in your yard at home, do they.”
Chickie licked Sam’s chin, his cheek, and even grazed his nose before my husband stood and had a wolf trailing behind him up to the deck, where Chickie moved over to me and slipped his nose into my hand for attention.
“You guys need to call me when we have guests,” he snapped.