Page 18 of Wishing for a Werewolf (Ferndale Falls Forever #2)

Autumn

Rune’s eyes widen for a moment. Then he springs into action without explaining the phrase, leaping up onto the bed of the tractor trailer and picking up a hay bale with each arm.

I tell Dad and Steve the new plan. They’ll help Mom move and stack everything inside the soap barn.

When we’re lucky, our alfalfa hay gets delivered on a sunny day, and we can leave it outside and slowly move it into both barns over the course of a week.

We’ve already shoved all the soap drying racks and storage bins over to one side, but we can’t fit half the hay in here without stacking it high using a pulley to lift the bales, and that takes time.

Time we don’t have in the rain. The goat barn is the same, with only half the space available for hay, the rest taken up by milking machines and goat pens.

It was situation FUBAR until Rune showed up.

Oh, god, watching the werewolf toss around one-hundred-pound hay bales like they weigh nothing is the porniest forearm porn ever. And shoulder porn, and back porn, and all the porns, because that soaking wet Henley isn’t hiding a single damned thing.

He catches me standing in the rain, horny Autumn in full control of my body as I watch him like a star-struck teen eyeing her movie-star crush. Rune’s lips twitch, showing off the tips of his fangs, and he rumbles, “The letters?”

“Right!” I snap into motion, whirling around to hide my heating cheeks, knowing they must be boiling red.

Babybelle races from the barn, gamboling around Rune’s legs with mischievous hops. “I’m coming, too!”

“How’d you get out of the pasture?” I ask. But even as the words leave my lips, I know it’s a pointless question. My familiar conquered the goat-proof fence yet again. I take off running, my sneakers squelching across the backyard. “Come on, then!”

Babybelle zips in front of me and butts at the door to the cottage, her tail flicking with impatience. “Hurry! I want to be dry!”

“Yes, little miss,” I puff as I finally catch up to her and swing open the front door.

She gallops into the entryway and shakes like a dog, water flying out from her in a shower of droplets.

“Hey, stop that!” I fling my arms up to protect my face. “I was going to dry you with a towel!”

“I can’t help it.” The skin on her back twitches. “I’m going to do it again!” And she does, shaking another splatter of water across me and the hardwood floor before hopping forward with a happy bleat. “I feel better!”

“I’m glad someone does,” I say. “Because that towel is now mopping up the water on the floor.”

She laughs her baaing goat laugh and clatters down the hallway. I blot my face and hair, then spread the towel across the wet floor. Once I’m dry enough not to drip all over my laptop, I type and print our acceptance letters, seal them in a plastic bag, and tuck it under my shirt.

When I return to the entryway, Babybelle lies beside the towel, dutifully chewing on one of my slippers. “See!” She leaps to her feet. “I was good. I wanted to chew the towel, but I remembered what I promised!”

I gather her up for a cuddle, giving her soft forehead a kiss. “Thank you.” It seems Rune was right—it’s better to channel her inherent nature than to fight against it.

She butts her head under my chin, rubbing across my jaw. Then she falls limp in my arms, relaxing against me like a toy whose batteries just ran out. “Naptime?”

“Sorry, sweetie. Not today. We’ve got to get the hay stored.”

“Why don’t you do it with magic?” Her amber eyes look at me beseechingly. “Make a wish, and then we can have a nap.”

I laugh and shake my head. “I need a lot more practice with my magic before I use it on something important. That hay needs to feed you and the other goats all winter long.” And if I messed up and ruined the hay, it would take the farm’s entire emergency fund to replace it, leaving us heading into our leanest season without anything to fall back on.

If only I could get soap sales up, we’d have more of a cushion. But people want pretty things for Christmas presents, not your run-of-the-mill soaps. As nice as our lavender and peppermint soaps are, the bars are completely undecorated, and the packaging is… well, it’s effing boring, is what it is.

One thing at a time, Autumn, I remind myself. One thing at a time.

“You ready to run again?”

“Yes!” Babybelle squirms in my arms, her little body coming to life. The second I open the door, she springs down and gallops away with high hops. Looking back over her shoulder, she yells, “Catch me if you can!”

Laughing, I give chase, making a game of it all the way back to the red barn.

Where there’s nobody waiting.

“Huh.” I peek inside to find the earlier chaos replaced by towering stacks of hay bales all neatly lined up on one side of the barn.

Back outside, I take off for the south pasture, where the goat barn stands.

It’s away from the main house mostly because our billy goat, Limburger, smells absolutely rank during rut.

Trust me—no one wants to be anywhere near the stench this boy produces. No one but the girl goats, that is.

“Hello, hello, hello!” Babybelle bleats, racing in circles around the larger goats.

The girls all perk up from their slow graze, ambling toward me, looking for treats.

“Sorry, Brie. Sorry, Gouda. No goat cookies or acorns this time.” I come to a halt and hold out my hands to show they’re empty before giving them each an ear scratch. Cheddar pushes forward and lips at the end of my sleeve, and I pull it out of her mouth with a laugh. “You’re as bad as Babybelle!”

Mozzarella, one of this year’s kids, gambols over, and I make sure to give her special attention.

After one last round of pats, I start running again, ready to get out of the drizzle and get these letters posted.

The tractor trailer sits in front of the goat barn, and I arrive in time to watch Rune offload the last few bales of hay, his big body still moving easily, as if carrying two-hundred pounds is nothing.

God, it’s effing hot. Especially when those forearms of his flex like it’s an Olympic sport and he’s going for the gold.

Which makes horny Autumn wake up all over again. My heart starts pounding harder, and I try to convince myself it’s all from the run, but the tingling low in my stomach shows I’m lying.

I follow him into the barn to find Mom, Dad, and Steve stacking the bales high with another of our pulley systems. Mom waves me over, shooting what she thinks is a surreptitious look at Rune, but she’s about as subtle as a hammer, so her voice carries.

“Who is this young man, Autumn? And does he want a job?”

“Don’t let Steve hear you say that,” I whisper-hiss. “You know how hard it is to find experienced farm help around here.”

It’s part of the labor drain Ferndale Falls has experienced over the last several years—young people needing to move away to find work.

Getting the town’s finances turned around because of an influx of fae and Faerie gold—and not the trick kind—is great, but it’s going to take a while to start attracting more humans to move here. Steve’s a godsend and no joke.

“This is Rune. We’re working together on the fall festival.” I pull out the letters and raise my voice. “In fact, I have good news.”

Rune drops the last two bales on the lift, and Dad winches them up to Steve, who’s on a ladder so he can direct the rectangular blocks into place. Once they’re all done, we gather in the open space in front of the milking stalls.

“With the help of Rune—” I tip my head toward him. “—our farm is going to host the hay maze this year!”

I expect happy smiles and congratulations that we finally got it, but instead, I’m met with uncertain looks.

“This means the hayrides will bring people out to the farm. We can set up a table with soap samples and make a little petting zoo to get the kids excited about the goats.”

“Autumn,” Dad says in that cautious tone of voice he always uses these days.

His tanned face seems more lined than even a year ago, and they’re worry lines, not ones from a life lived outdoors.

His sandy-brown hair also holds a lot more gray.

When did Dad get so old? “I don’t think we can put on the hay maze. ”

“What do you mean? Nana and Pop ran it every year when I was little.”

“The farm did better back then. We were still making milk and cheese. We still had four farmhands to help.” He glances at Steve. “No offense.”

“None taken. I’m great, but there’s no way I can match the work of four people.”

Hurt and confusion whirl in my chest. “But…” Oh, god, I have to say something to convince them, but what?

They haven’t accepted anything new I’ve wanted to try over the last few years.

It’s actually kind of amazing that they switched the farm over from being a dairy to soap production ten years ago, but that change was fueled by pure desperation.

Downsizing the herd and staff and focusing on a less labor-intensive product was the only way to save the farm.

“What Autumn’s trying to say is you won’t be doing it alone.” Rune doesn’t raise his voice, but its deep rumble still fills the entire barn. “You’ll have me and my pack.”

I widen my eyes at him. “Humans don’t say pack,” I whisper under my breath, knowing he’ll hear.

“I mean my family,” Rune says.

Mom and Dad share a look, wanting to protest again but not wanting to be rude to a guest.

I take advantage of their hesitation and say, “Rune’s already agreed.” Things need to change to keep the farm afloat, and since they won’t do anything until we’re desperate, I’m going to push this. I pull out Rune’s letter and hand it to him with a pen, pointing out the signature line. “Sign here.”

When he’s done, I fold it up and stuff it into the prepared envelope.

Then I spin and race out of the barn, Babybelle bounding along beside me.

We’re not far from the end of the driveway, and it doesn’t take me long to make it to the mailbox right as the white postal jeep rounds the bend of the main road.

I wait until Rosie pulls up and hand the letters directly to her. Her brown face breaks into a smile as she reads Mrs. Greely’s name, and she says, “You’re helping with the fall festival this year?”

“As you well know.” I grin. Rosie’s the nicest person on the events committee.

“You do it up right, and I can see it happening again next year.” She gives me a wink as she pulls away to putter on down the road.

I spin to find Rune walking toward me.

“The letters are sent. We’ve officially accepted our roles for the pumpkin carving contest and the hay maze, with a note that we’re helping each other.

” That’s sure to light a fire under the town’s old-lady gossip network.

They’ll probably think wedding bells are ringing for the two of us, never realizing it’s a magical mix-up of epic proportions instead of romance.

“Good.” He comes to a stop right in front of me.

“You don’t have to, you know.” I gesture back toward the farm.

“You don’t have to help with the actual hay maze.

” Who the eff knows how I’ll do it without him, but I could ask the Witch Bitches to help, or maybe Hannah could convince Severin to magic the bales into place. “I’ll, uhh… I’ll find someone.”

Rune must hear the hesitancy in my voice, because he hits me with the full intensity of his golden gaze. “Won’t your family help?”

“They’re not exactly thrilled about the hay maze.” A swirl of emotions tangles in my chest, and I can’t keep the disappointed hurt from my voice. “I thought they’d love it, because my grandparents used to host the hay maze all the time when I was little, but I was wrong.”

A big hand wraps around my shoulder, warm through the damp of my shirt. “Tell me.”

Leaning into the firmness of his grip, I finally blurt out all the things I’ve been bottling up.

“The farm’s not doing well. We’re not in trouble—not yet!

—but if things keep going like they are, we will be.

” My eyes rove over the pasture and our small herd of goats, who’ve emerged from the barn to graze now that the rain’s letting up.

Cheddar bumps against Gouda, and the two snuggle up like sisters as they crop at the grass.

God, I love this place! “I keep coming up with ideas for how to improve things, bring in new customers, but…” My free shoulder spasms in a quick shrug.

“Is the soap shop one of these ideas?” he asks, his deep voice a comforting rumble, free of judgment.

“Yep. The soaps the farm makes are good, quality soaps, but they’re not special. Not compared to what the competition makes. I want to add a line of artisanal soaps to attract those customers, but my parents are against it, because it would take money and resources they don’t feel we can risk.”

“What do you think?” He gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“My parents keep saying we need to focus on what we know, but the data shows our sales are slipping more and more each month. Doing the same thing isn’t working.

” Mom and Dad mean well, but these days, they’re nothing but walking balls of worry, white-knuckling their way through life.

The more sales start to slip, the more tightly they cling to what we’ve been doing, unwilling to hear anything I have to say.

But I’m right—I can feel it in my gut—and it’s an effing relief to have someone listen to me.

“So I think the real risk is not trying something new. It’s also the reason I want to host the hay maze, so we can remind everyone we’re here and making a great product. ”

“Everything you say sounds perfectly reasonable, and I will help you with the hay maze.” He gives my shoulder one last squeeze. “As I told you before, we’re in this together.”

My heart skips at his words, at having someone on my side for a change. The way Rune backed me up in the barn was the first real support I’ve gotten for one of my ideas for how to help the farm. It means more than he could ever guess.

And damned if I don’t like the way he says “together” when he speaks of the two of us.