Chapter 24 #2
He huffed. “No, but only because Dalziel would probably send me to Siberia or something for a decade,” he muttered darkly. “Poor Luc. Evidently his pack is as bad as he said they were.”
When Bradshaw returned about an hour after night fell, his expression could be likened to that of a kicked puppy with a massive side portion of sulking.
He mumbled something that was probably supposed to be an apology and definitely began ‘My alpha said’, but it was so obviously done grudgingly, it was all I could do not to laugh in his face as he held out the form for Edwin to sign at arm’s length.
I’m not sure he breathed in for the entire two and a half minutes it took for the exchange to be over.
Edwin gave him his sunniest smile and assured him the Council would be in touch if anyone else needed any work done.
As Bradshaw headed off again, my ears weren’t up to the job, but Edwin told me he growled all the way back to his car.
“Shame he’s such a wanker,” he said mildly as he locked the door behind us once more. “He’d be cute if he smiled. You know, for a wolf.”
Reassured that was the end of it, I pushed the surly wolf shifter to the back of my mind and gave my full attention to the man who was preferable in every way to our bigoted builder, even if, as Edwin had noted, he had been extremely handsome.
Trace appeared one morning while Edwin and I were asleep. Pre-warned of his arrival, I’d left some sandwiches, soup, and fresh fruit in his new kitchen, along with a note that said I’d set an alarm so I could join him and help out with whatever he needed doing.
When I shuffled out into the afternoon, the recent heatwave had partially broken and the day was damp and somewhat cooler, although it wasn’t presently raining.
I found Trace humping crates of plants, some in large pots, from a trailer he’d attached to his car.
He was wearing cut-off denim shorts and a sleeveless top, both streaked with mud and unidentifiable stains, and distressed-looking boots, a combination that should absolutely not have been appealing to a self-confessed neat freak like me, but on him looked amazing.
The times I’d seen him naked, I’d been too riddled with anxiety to appreciate how toned he was, but damn, he was fine.
Every slender inch of him was stupidly, perfectly fine.
Even his hair, which as usual was tangled and caught up in a vague man bun, made my breath catch in my throat.
He looked up as I approached. “Come to lend a hand? I won’t say no.
I need to get this whole lot bedded in before I can think of stopping.
The dry spell hasn’t helped. A brief shower earlier today’s done nothing.
I spent an hour soaking the soil before I could begin bringing everything from the trailer. I thought July was a wet month?”
“It usually is,” I said, trying to concentrate on what Trace might want me to do rather than the flex of tendons under his sun-darkened skin. “What can I do to help?”
“You any good at digging?” I regarded him helplessly. “Do you want to find out?”
Finally, I unglued my tongue from the roof of my mouth to reply that I was happy to do anything he wanted.
Trace glanced at me, then urged me to find some suitable footwear. “I don’t want you smashing your toes on a spade,” he explained when I looked blank.
“I only have trainers.”
He smirked. “Such a city boy. What size are you?”
With an extra pair of thick socks to cushion my feet in a pair of borrowed boots which Trace informed me had steel toe caps, I clomped back outside feeling very butch.
He showed me where he wanted holes dug and how deep.
He demonstrated, twisting and slicing the spade through the soil like he was performing some kind of martial art.
I didn’t think he was showing off; this was second nature to him.
I eyed his neat pile of earth, then took the spade. “I’ll be fine. You carry on with what you were doing.”
Twenty minutes later, I abandoned my T-shirt to the carriage steps and was regretting having worn jogging bottoms. This was harder work than it looked.
Unwilling to wear any less, I ignored the trickles of sweat everywhere and pressed on.
Trace kept up his steady to and fro from the car to the garden, until he came to stand beside me.
I paused in my efforts and hoiked my eyebrows at him. “Is this all right?”
“Very. You’re a natural. I’ll start by transferring the bigger plants.
They’re the ones I’m most concerned about.
Poor things didn’t much like being told I was uprooting them.
But needs must. Better some trauma for a week or so than being fed to the chipper when Filey bulldozes the plot.
” He shuddered. I studied him as he half turned away to gently ease a small tree from a massive rubber bucket.
“Come on, you, out you come. You’ll be much happier as soon as I’ve got you sorted. ”
“Do you always talk to plants?”
He shot me a sunny smile. “Of course. They’re living things. They require our respect and our love like anything else.”
“You eat them though. Isn’t that kind of, I dunno…?” I scratched my head, then wished I hadn’t as my hands were filthy.
Trace smiled again, this time with understanding.
“We have to eat. And I’m not saying plants are sentient in the same way as animals, but there’s still a balance that needs fulfilling.
I thank them for providing me with sustenance.
Like, if I kept chickens, I would thank them for the eggs they laid, even if I do personally find chickens rather lacking in conversational niceties.
” He frowned at the tree, then grabbed a second spade. “You’re going to need a bigger hole.”
I snorted. “Bet you don’t say that to all the boys.”
He whipped his head around. Oh God, why did I say this shit? I could feel my cheeks heating up. Trace’s eyes, however, were alight with mischief. “How delightfully rude of you, James. Working with you is proving to be a lot of fun.”
I wasn’t sure fun was the word I’d have used, but we found some kind of rhythm, me digging the holes, Trace expanding them if necessary, then adding compost or fertiliser, and in some cases both — I hadn’t known the difference until Trace explained — before carefully settling another bush or tree into its new home
By the time Edwin appeared after sunset with mugs of tea for us both, we’d made steady progress.
All the individual plants that had arrived in large containers were now positioned where Trace assured me they should thrive.
“With a little bit of magic and some good old-fashioned luck,” he murmured.
He exhaled a huge sigh. “I’m worried about my herb garden though. ”
“Why?” Edwin asked.
“The garden is lovely, don’t get me wrong, but because it’s smaller than I’m used to, it’s more shady in places than is ideal.
A lot of the herbs are low growing and love more sun than I think they’re going to get.
Don’t think I’m bitching, because I’m so grateful to have a place to move to, but yeah…
” He shook his messy hair out of his eyes and I could see they were pained.
“These herbs,” Edwin mused. “They don’t have to live in the back garden, do they?”
Trace eyeballed him. “I need them near enough to keep an eye on, and to use for my potions and for cooking. Please don’t suggest an allotment.”
“I wasn’t going to. Why not use the front garden?
It’s not particularly private, so I wouldn’t suggest chatting to Terrance while you’re working or one of the neighbours might call the local circus or suggest you need psychiatric help.
But otherwise, if you want to avail yourself of the space, have at it. ”
“But it’s full of flowers.”
Edwin gave him a look that suggested he was having trouble believing Trace wasn’t keeping up. “Can we not dig them up? Or will they have ruined the soil? We can buy in some new soil if you—”
“They’re your plants, Edwin.” Trace visibly winced. “I can’t just dispose of them.”
“Would the flowerbeds work if you repurposed them?” Edwin persisted.
“Yes, they’d be perfect. Okay, a little near to the road for perfection, but nothing I can’t overcome with patience and occasional magic. But—”
“But nothing. If you think I can replant any of these anywhere, then put me to work.” Edwin began rolling up his sleeves.
“Otherwise they’ll have to make a self-sacrifice to the bin gods for the better good of witches everywhere.
C’mon, man, I’m committed to supporting you in any way I can.
Also,” he batted his lashes comically, “contrary to my reputation as a pretty party boy with a fancy wardrobe, I didn’t grow up wealthy or entitled.
I’m good at getting my hands dirty. Put. Me. To. Work.”
Trace looked away for a moment. When he turned back, his eyes were glittering furiously.
“I’m fully aware of your formidable abilities as a tracker, Eddie, and the rest. The recent manhunt and its rather violent conclusion alone would have clued me in to your being willing to get your hands dirty.
” He shot me a quick glance, possibly checking I wasn’t freaking out.
“I… I’m not used to people being so kind.
It took me by surprise.” He seemed to dredge up a smile from the vicinity of his boots.
“I accept your offer of the flowerbeds and your labour, thank you. But please do go and change into something less obviously designer, or I’ll spend the whole time twitching. ”