Page 23 of Beware of Hodags

“No,” Mirk says weirdly forcefully. Then, as if catching himself, he shakes his head and says in a more reasonable tone, “You’ll come with me to shop for supplies.”

It isn’t a request.

I frown. “What if people drive all the way out here hoping to get jam or cookies or whatever but find the shop closed? It’ll be a waste of their trip.”

“It won’t,” Mirk disagrees. “We’ll leave the shop unlocked and put the honor bucket out.”

Shepard’s teeth have gotten bigger. He flashes them at Mirk in something that no one would mistake for a smile as he draws his arm out from under my restraining touch, steps in front of me, and reaches back to clasp my hand possessively in his. “I’ll help you shop, Rachel.”

Peering around him, I see that, if possible, Mirk draws himself up even taller. “No.”

Shepard’s head tips forward, like maybe he didn’t hear him correctly. And maybe like he’s giving Mirk a chance to rewind what he just said. “I hope I misheard you.”

Mirk is looking at Shepard like he’s something he scraped off his boot. “You didn’t. Rachel is my employee.”

Shepard steps forward, squaring off with him. “Yeah? Well, she’s my—”

Mirk raises his voice only slightly as he talks over my mate and says the thing that puts the situation into perspective. “She’s at work. Your relationship will have to wait. Right now I’m taking her.”

“Guys, I can drive mys—” I start to protest before I remember that I don’t have my car.

Which means I can’t settle this by simply driving myself.

Regardless, I’m distracted from the posturing by something skittering near the edge of my vision.

I tear my eyes off of the two men who are locked in another stare down and see a massive spider running hell bent for leather toward my cookie table .

I don’t even think about it. I don’t consider that I’m on a job site where they cultivate massive spiders as natural pest controllers. I see a spider on the run and I react.

I rush to it and Klompendans on it.

As I give the spider one last stomp, I notice it’s fallen dead quiet behind me. Panting, I turn to look at the guys, wondering what I missed.

Mirk is staring, stricken, at the crushed pile of arachnid.

Shepard is grinning like a wolf. “Not one of those spider lovers who sets them safely outside, Rach?”

“Not even a little,” I confirm, checking the bottoms of my shoes. “Ohhh, that was a juicy kill.”

Shepard huffs a laugh. And as suddenly as he got defensive, he’s relaxed. His eyes are dancing. His grin turns a little too gleeful as he aims it at Mirk.

My boss covers his mouth.

I wince and look down at the remains. Which there are a lot of. It was a huge spider. “Oh crap, sorry! Mirk, I didn’t mean to kill one of your worker spiders—I just reacted!”

“I love your instincts,” Shepard murmurs baitingly.

“Shut up!” Mirk snaps at him, startling me. His eyes slide to me; I must have tensed. “Rachel…”

“No more squishing the help?” I try to say lightly, testing his receptiveness for turning this playful. I’m confused as to why my boss looks distraught over a dead spider. Yes, he needs them, but by his reckoning, he has more. Many, many, many more.

Shepard strolls up to me and gently catches me by my upper arms. He uses a light grip to tug me forward and plant a kiss on my forehead. “I’ll see you when your shift ends.” He spares Mirk a look over his shoulder. “Have fun shopping with my girl.”

My insides turn to fluff. My girl .

Biting back a giddy grin, I don’t notice Mirk’s darkening expression. I’m looking into Shepard’s eyes when he turns back to me and grins. “Bring the hair net home.”

I shake my head to discourage him from flirting with me in front of my boss.

“Bye,” I tell him. And I watch him as he turns and ambles out of the gift shop.

Before the door swings shut, I glimpse the puppies lunging at the fence, not aggressively—not at all, they're simply hopeful at the prospect of gnawing on a new person. They don’t know to be wary of my mate’s disturbing craving for snack-flavored bulldogs.

I sidestep so that I can watch Shepard through the window, ostentatiously to be sure he doesn’t take a treat for the road, but when he behaves himself I get a little distracted by the sight of his fine back and equally fine butt.

At least until Mirk steps between me and my viewing portal and clears his throat. “Ready to go to Trig’s?”

Guiltily, I start. “Uh, yeah.” I yank my hair net off. “Let me grab my cell from the kitchen real quick.”

He dips his chin. “I’ll put away the puppies.”

A musical chime starts up.

“What is that?” Mirk asks, frowning at the kitchen counter.

I’m already heading for it. “My phone.” I snag it and swipe the alarm off. “My break time’s up.” I slide it into my pocket. “I’ll help you with the puppies. And I guess you’ll have to drive me if you want me to come with you because Shepard was my ride to work.”

He jerks his head toward the door of the gift shop. “We’ll return the pups to the secured yard and then I’ll take you.”

***

It’s a weirdly tense ride. I regret going along with Mirk, especially when, as he kills the engine in the parking lot of Trig’s, he sends a wary look around the other parked cars before he turns to me and says heavily, “You need to be careful. ”

“Of what?”

“Of Shepard.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s—” His eyes pin mine. The look in them is slightly wild. Hunted. “He’s—” He breaks off whatever he’s trying to say and drags a hand through his hair. “Let me get your door.”

“No, I’ve got it. Thanks!” I say as I rush to pop it open. I practically fight to unclip my seatbelt so I can leap from his truck before he can shoulder his door open and round the hood to help me out.

When my boots are on the ground, I feel a little foolish turning down Mirk’s show of good manners. Even though I know my impulse not to let him do for me what Shepard does for me feels right, I can’t help but dart a look to check Mirk’s face.

He regards me knowingly, and I give him what I hope is a smile that conveys nothing but friendly acquaintanceship.

Just the day before, I told myself I’d only need to tell Mirk that I’m taken to deter his interest, but I find myself hesitating.

Do I just blurt it out? I don’t want to embarrass him.

And what if I’m reading him wrong? What if he’s simply being nice and I’m reading too much into things?

I’ll feel so stupid. The embarrassment will make me want to roll up and die. I say nothing.

Mirk starts walking to the store so I fall into step with him.

Wrestling with my thoughts, I wait for him to finish his alarming warning all the way up to the sliding doors of the store, but he doesn’t say anything more, just grabs a cart and moves with me to the baking aisle.

And he gets tenser and tenser as people brush past us. As we load supplies into the cart and strangers turn and catch sight of my neck and give me smiles.

As the scents of other shoppers surround us, a cold rock lodges itself in my stomach, and I wonder if I might know what Mirk wants to warn me about.

Because the other shoppers? They aren’t human.

They’re hodags.