3. Chapter 3
Lee
Having Micah around was a joy and a torture, wrapped in one far-too-appealing package.
That first night, when he stripped to shift, I’d had to turn away, pretending to scan the forest for threats before the sight of his bare skin undid all my control.
Back home, I’d put a cot into the spare room for him when we slept in skin.
I didn’t dare have him in my bedroom, for fear of betraying myself.
My hunger for him was better when we ran as wolves.
My wolf didn’t want him for sex. And yet, in some ways the pull was worse, because my wolf surely did want Micah for pack and he was much less guarded with touch than I had learned to be.
In fur, we nudged and wrestled and even slept pressed together.
In skin, every time my fingers brushed his, I had to think about the war to keep my dick under control.
He’ll be leaving soon. I kept reminding myself of that.
We talked about our pasts in fits and starts, working on the jobs he insisted on helping with, sticking to our human lives in case anyone overheard.
We were learning our way back to each other as friends.
Micah loved his roving photographer life, that was clear.
He’d had successes too— perhaps not National Geographic level, but his photos had been published in some major magazines.
All that week, he’d dug his camera out of his bag to get shots of Zipper, the local birds, and our Wyoming mountains, but that wouldn’t be enough for him forever.
I could leave with him. The thought shocked me, because I was settled as I’d never been before, here in this small town with my cozy house and my business and my neighbors. And Zipper. He was companion more than pet, and could fend for himself, but I liked to think he’d miss me.
Going off with Micah was a stupid idea, anyway.
Even if I valued my best friend enough to give up this life, I couldn’t wander the world living on his earnings.
Plus, I would betray myself, inevitably, at some point, by a look or a touch or a word.
He’d be furious, and our friendship would be defiled in his eyes.
Even if he didn’t call to some local Alpha for my death— the accepted penalty for being queer as a werewolf— he would run as far from me as he could. And I’d be even more alone.
No, I had to take this time with him as a simple gift. A golden moment I wouldn’t forget. Maybe, if he was happy and comfortable with me, he might stop by every now and then on his travels. That would still be far more than I’d had before.
By the end of that week, we were putting up a fence for the Beauforts, who were expecting their third child in as many years and wanted a safe play-space the little ones couldn’t get out of.
Second day of work, and I figured we’d get the job done before sunset, even though we were pushing into dinnertime.
Micah steadied the second-to-last post as I applied the sledgehammer to drive it into the hole we’d dug. When the post was set, the echoes of my blows died away. Except… a soft thud came from a distance, followed by a muted cry, and a man’s voice muttering, “Bitch.”
Micah and I turned to the house next door. The Fletchers. Damnation.
Human ears probably wouldn’t have picked up the next blow, or the woman’s whimper. Micah turned to me. “Shouldn’t we go over there?”
“I can’t,” I said, my voice low between my gritted teeth. “If he sees me, he’ll hurt her worse. He imagines she’s attracted to me. And until she complains to the sheriff, it’s my word against theirs.”
“Why wouldn’t she complain?” Micah glared at the now-silent house.
“Fear? No money to live on if she leaves him? A dozen people telling her it’s a husband’s right to correct his wife.”
“Well, I’m going to check on her. The husband doesn’t know who I am.”
That was optimistic. The entire town surely knew about the brown-skinned bum that I’d taken on as a hired hand. But at least Chuck wouldn’t see a man like Micah as competition. “Thanks.”
“What are their names?”
“Peggy and Chuck.”
Micah pulled off his gloves, used them to slap the dust off his Levis, then crossed the lawn between the houses. I moved closer, out of sight from the door but near enough to hear, and to be there in seconds if Chuck threatened Micah.
I heard Chuck answer Micah’s knock on the door. “Whaddya want?”
“We were working next door and heard someone scream. Is your wife all right?”
“It’s none of your business.” Chuck’s tone suggested loathing. “Anyhow, no one screamed. She fell, is all. Here, Peggy, tell the man you’re fine.”
Peggy’s voice came from farther inside. “I bumped my arm on the table. I’m fine.”
“See?” Then Chuck’s voice harshened. “Wait, working next door. You’re the tramp that Pierce bastard’s hired, aren’t you? Is he spying on me? Did he send you to look at my wife?”
“No one sent me. I heard a woman in pain and wanted to make sure no one needed a doctor.”
“What happens in my home and with my wife is none of that Pierce’s business, or yours. If you don’t get off my property by the time I count to ten, I’m gonna shoot you for trespassing. No jury will care if I shoot a thieving Injun for looking at my wife.”
“I’m going, I’m going. But if either of you do need help, you know where to find me.” Micah’s boots echoed off the Fletchers’ wooden porch steps.
I drifted back to where we’d been working, and when he reached me, he muttered, “Charming man, that one.”
“Wifebeating waste of skin.”
“Can we get the sheriff to put the fear of God into him?”
“Sheriff Tomlinson gives Chuck Fletcher a lot of rope. He won’t interfere.”
“Maybe we can grab him one night and find a tall cliff.” Micah hefted the last post and slammed it into the waiting hole.
“Shh. But no, not unless she asks me.”
He tilted his head, eyeing me. “And if she does? That’s one hell of a pretty woman. Way too good for that ape-face, even if he wasn’t abusing her.”
I remembered that Janet’s looks had been similar to Peggy’s— pale skin, dark brown hair, and big blue eyes.
Exactly Micah’s type. I had to swallow before saying, “If she asks me for help, she’ll get it.
I don’t hold with hurting women or children.
She fell and lost a baby a couple of years back, and I have to wonder if that was his doing too. ”
Micah growled under his breath. “A cliff is too good for him. She had a bruise on her arm. I want to bruise up every inch of him.”
I told myself that any werewolf would get fierce about an abused woman.
It meant nothing special from Micah. Hell, I was furious, and I had zero interest in women.
But I had to restrain a growl when Micah glanced back at the house and said, “She might be pretty enough for Hollywood, but she’s probably too sweet and meek for that life. ”
“Watch the work,” I reminded Micah. “You’re holding that post crooked.”
We finished the fence and hung the gate, collected our pay, and headed back to my place for a late dinner. Zipper came dashing out of the bushes as we walked up the path and attacked Micah’s ankles.
Micah yelped and jumped. “Off, you foul biter.”
Zipper trilled, his eyes bright, then scurried away on some adventure.
“It means he likes you,” I teased.
“Oh yeah? Will you bite me because you like me?”
If you ask nicely. I cleared my throat, erasing the image of his bare skin waiting for my teeth. “We haven’t done enough play-fighting in fur?”
“Oh. Yeah, I guess.” Micah ducked into the house.
I followed him, not looking at his ass in those snug Levis. Every day was a gift. I had to remember that. We took turns in the tub, washing off the sweat and dust of the workday. He washed out his clothes when he was done, wearing just his undershorts. God was trying to torture me.
“I should have you drive me up to Yellowstone on Sunday, so I can fetch more clothes.” Micah didn’t turn as he reached upward to drape his things over the curtain rail. The lines of his smooth, brown back were poetry in a form I’d never appreciated so well.
Heat flashed over me and I had to turn away.
I’d been attracted to men since my early teens, even if one drunken night with Micah was what had cemented the certainty in my brain.
Attracted, but not reckless. No other man had ever been enough to make me forget myself.
I’d had a few dozen hand jobs over the years, mostly in the war when the threat of death made men willing to take risks for a moment of pleasure.
A couple of soldiers had offered their mouths, but I hadn’t felt safe going that far.
The two Texas wolves in my platoon wouldn’t have hesitated a moment before using the war as cover to get rid of a queer wolf permanently if I’d gone past “normal men have needs.”
I’d looked at porn photos since then. I’d bought the muscle magazines and left marks on a page or two. But Micah was the first, last, and only man who could stretch up an arm and make my whole body feel as if I’d been dipped in hot water.
Odds were, he knew it too. He hadn’t betrayed me after our one night, but he’d distanced himself from me immediately, and I’d done the same. He’d run out and found a pretty girl as fast as he could, dated and married her, his heterosexual credentials secure. He’d loved her big tits.
This past week, Micah had probably smelled arousal from me now and then as we worked and lived together, but he was being kind enough to say nothing. I didn’t need to make his tolerance difficult.
“Sure,” I said, stepping back casually from his underwear-clad presence. “I can give you a ride to Yellowstone this weekend. Will you come back here afterward, or go on with your original plans?”
Micah threw me a look over his shoulder. “Have I worn out my welcome?”
“No! God, no. But I figured you have a job of work to do. Photos of a cheeky weasel can’t be enough to meet your commissions.”