Page 3 of Horned to be Wild (Harmony Glen #7)

CHAPTER THREE

L ila watched Torin disappear into the woods, taking the adorable Mabel with him.

She had a feeling the little goat would be making a reappearance, no matter how much her owner disapproved.

She grinned as she remembered the way the tiny creature had charged the enormous minotaur, but her smile faltered at the memory of the look on his face as he’d landed on her.

She’d been dazed for a moment but when her vision cleared, he was looming over her, a shocked look in his eyes and an actual blush on his cheeks.

His features were most definitely not human—a broad, flat nose with flared nostrils, a wide mouth, and those amazing amber eyes—but she still found him disturbingly attractive.

His horns had been mere inches from her face, an impressive span of curved bone and his body had been a hard, heavy weight on top of her.

But it was the thick ridge of his erection pressing against her stomach that had really caught her attention. She’d had the brief, entirely inappropriate impulse to wrap her legs around his hips and pull him closer before he hastily rolled away from her.

The thought of that enormous erection sent a rush of heat through her body, and she squeezed her thighs together in an attempt to relieve the growing pressure.

But the fact that he was hung like a horse—well, a bull—wasn’t the only thing she remembered about their encounter.

There was something oddly vulnerable about him.

His deep voice had been rusty, as if it wasn’t frequently used, and his tail had flicked anxiously the whole time he was speaking to her.

And he had definitely been anxious, despite his huge size and intimidating horns.

He’d been so nervous that he’d fled from her at the first opportunity and she frowned at the thought.

Had she said something wrong? She was sure he hadn’t been offended by her great aunt’s references to him.

For a minute, his stern face had actually softened and his amber eyes had warmed, but after she’d complimented Mabel, he’d gone rigid and practically ran away from her.

She sighed and shook her head, then turned her attention back to the array of paints on the porch. Maybe she could convince him to pose for her. Naked , a voice in her head whispered, and the color immediately rose to her cheeks. But she did need to decide on her next project.

In the last few weeks before she’d moved, she had worked feverishly on a series of paintings, determined to get them done before she left.

When she’d completed the last one, she had packed them into a wooden crate and shipped them to an address Etta had given her, with a note to sell them at the best price possible.

With any luck they would add to her modest bank account.

But first things first. She needed to finish cleaning before she started painting. She gathered up her art supplies and went to attack the curtains. By midday they’d all been removed and the windows washed, and she decided to reward herself by strolling into town for a coffee.

Harmony Glen was as delightful as her aunt had implied, and she quickly became accustomed to the wide variety of monsters and humans inhabiting the town.

She waved to a fox man with a charming grin outside the local hardware store, making a note of the location, and didn’t blink when a female who appeared to be half peacock and half human served her a coffee that was every bit as good as the coffee shop down the street from her apartment in the city.

She carried the coffee down to the boardwalk and sat looking out over the lake, enjoying the warm sunshine while she could.

A few of the trees edging the lake were already starting to change color and she knew it wouldn’t be long before autumn arrived.

A proper New England fall—she could hardly wait.

On her way back home, she paused to admire the window display at Bloom it was crafted.

The wood had been treated with something that brought out the natural beauty of the pattern, highlighting whorls and lines she wouldn’t have noticed otherwise.

“Who did this—” she began, then immediately decided it had to have been Torin. But how had he done it so quickly? And why had he waited until she left the house to do the work?

Something else caught her eye—a small object placed carefully on the edge of the new step.

A tiny, exquisitely carved wooden bird, no larger than her thumb.

She picked it up with reverent fingers, astonished by the detail.

Each feather was individually rendered, the wings positioned as if the creature had paused mid-flight, the head tilted in an attitude of curious observation.

It captured movement and life in a way that seemed impossible considering the medium, and she found herself smiling at it in delight.

This was Torin’s work—it had to be. The craftsmanship matched the repaired step, but this…

this was art. She shook her head as she carefully tucked the carving into her pocket and carried her purchases inside.

This was another side to the stern-faced minotaur and she found herself more intrigued than ever.

She placed the bird on the kitchen windowsill where the light caught its subtle details, pondering her mysterious neighbor as she put away her groceries and arranged her flowers. How could someone so huge be capable of such delicate artistry? And why perform such a thoughtful gesture in secret?

I have to thank him , she decided, but how?

A simple thank you note seemed woefully inadequate.

She needed something more… personal. She tapped her lips thoughtfully as she considered her options.

Perhaps she should take him the flowers?

But then her gaze landed on the bowl full of apples she’d just purchased.

“Perfect.”

Two hours later, her cottage was filled with the heavenly scent of warm apples and cinnamon as she slid the golden-crusted pie from the oven.

As she waited for it to cool, she admitted to herself that it was also an excuse—a transparent one at that.

I want to see him again. The thought sent a delicious shiver down her spine that she didn’t care to examine too closely.

She started to pick up her phone and call Etta, then hesitated.

While her best friend would be thrilled to hear that Lila had met the hunky minotaur, she wasn’t quite ready to hear Etta’s enthusiastic encouragement to jump his bones.

Despite her undeniable attraction to him, there was something…

more to her reaction to him than simple lust.

When the pie had cooled enough to transport, she carefully wrapped it in a clean kitchen towel. She changed into a simple sundress that showcased her curves and brought out the auburn highlights in her hair, then laughed at herself in the mirror.

“It’s just a thank-you pie,” she told her reflection, unconvincingly.

Based on her great aunt’s journal, the dirt track next to her cottage led to Torin’s house.

She followed the track, enjoying the quiet rustle of the forest around her.

The trees were thicker here, overhanging the road, and the scent of pine and damp earth filled her lungs.

The sun was dipping towards the horizon, casting slanted rays through the trunks, and a bird called in the distance.

The forest seemed to wrap around her as she walked, cradling her in its embrace, and she found herself wondering what it would be like to walk the track in the company of her silent minotaur. Would she feel the same sense of comfort?

Not your minotaur , a little voice in her head corrected.

She sighed. No, he wasn’t hers, but that didn’t stop her from imagining him beside her, those broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the world.

Her heart started to beat faster as a rustic cabin came into view.

It was larger than she’d expected, with sturdy log walls and a wide porch, smoke curling lazily from a stone chimney.

What looked like an old barn stood nearby, and cords of wood were stacked neatly under an open-air woodshed.

Everything looked as if it belonged there, as if it were part of the forest itself.

She paused, suddenly having second thoughts. What if he didn’t want her here? What if the gift had been meant as a final goodbye?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she told herself, squaring her shoulders as she climbed up the steps to the cabin and knocked on the heavy door.

The pie trembled in her arms as she waited, a nervous flutter building in her stomach. Would he answer? Would he grunt and take the pie without a word? Would he smile?

The thought of seeing that rare smile again made her heart leap in a way she wasn’t entirely prepared for.

The silence stretched, broken only by birdsong and the distant bleat of what she assumed was Mabel, and she finally sighed. Either he wasn’t home or he wasn’t going to answer her. She was looking around for a safe place to leave the pie when she heard a muffled thud from the old barn.

She hurried down the steps and over to the barn.

She knocked again, and this time she heard footsteps approaching.

Her heart raced as the door swung open and he appeared, his massive body filling the doorframe.

He wore an open flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up to expose the thick muscles of his forearms, and she could see sawdust clinging to the short russet brown fur covering his powerful chest. She inhaled, and the mingled scents of sawdust and woodsmoke and a faint delicious musk hit her like a drug.

A wave of heat rolled through her body and she lost the ability to speak.