Page 2 of Alder Woodacre and the Acorns of Affection (Amaranthine Interludes #3)

Morning chores didn’t take nearly as long as they used to, thanks to the many members of the enclave cheerfully chipping in. So Joe’s routine was both curtailed … and extended to include a mid-morning meander out to visit Biddie.

Snow crunched under his boots as he skirted Grandad’s song circle, walking under the big oaks the man had planted. Biddie had close neighbors now, because Ash had built Tami a cottage out here. Not in the circle itself, since the wolves used it for gatherings, but a stone’s throw away.

Small feet scampered across snow, and Joe suddenly had a fuzzy backpack.

Reaching up to pat the squirrel nuzzling his cheek, he said, “Good morning, Bush.”

The Kith chirred happily, then called up into the tree branches. Push bounced onto the nearest branch and lifted a paw. Lush peeked from around the trunk of the neighboring tree, then scampered over, stretching up to put her paws in Joe’s hand.

Woodacre Kith were relatively small, at least compared to those of other Amaranthine clans. They were big for squirrels, of course. About the size of a medium dog, but rounder and lighter and soft to the touch.

Kip’s siblings were adults. Joe had pieced together enough family gossip from Uncle Denny’s infrequent visits to know that both Push and Lush had mates, and the two of them were both the parents and grandparents of several Woodacre Kith.

Bush wasn’t the sort to settle down, but he was quick enough to chase any female who flashed her tail his way.

Uncle Denny guessed that Bush and his philandering were to blame for the unusual cleverness of several generations of squirrels all across Perch County.

Bush always got to Joe first. He was absolutely trying to mooch off his brother’s bondmate, but Joe didn’t mind. He spent these morning visits with a lapful of squirrel.

Taking his usual seat among Biddie’s roots, he murmured, “Morning, Chick-a-biddie.”

Tami’s tree-twin giggled softly and kissed his cheek. “Joey-boy,” she cooed, pulling Lush onto her lap for a cuddle. “You’re happy.”

“Think so?”

“Know so.”

“Then it must be true.”

“The whole farm knows it. I can feel it in my roots, and it sparkles with the sunlight.”

Biddie was growing up at what Mom and Tami agreed was a perfectly normal, perfectly natural rate, humanly speaking. So the pint-sized sweetheart he’d found in this very spot a decade ago was now a young lady of fifteen.

“I found out why they moved here,” Biddie announced.

“Who?”

“Lush and Bush and Push and the rest.”

“Wasn’t it to be with you?” he asked.

“Yes, but not yes.”

“So … no?”

“Nooo. Aunt Holly is going to have another litter. Uncle Burl is very proud, but he’s come down with a case of instincts. No more lay-abouts in the nest. Push and Bush needed to go, and Lush wouldn’t let them leave without her.”

“I’m glad they came to us.”

“Me, too.”

Joe had been wondering for a while now what Kip’s babyhood name had been.

It seemed likely that his fell in line with his littermates, but it was hard to imagine Kip being called Mush or Gush.

Maybe he’d been so talkative, his parents called him Hush?

Or what about … Tush? He smiled and shook his head.

Even a lady as mischievous as Holly Woodacre wouldn’t do that to her own child.