Page 3 of Tusks & Saddles
“I’m doing it for free—”
“The fuck you are,” she spat, kicking gravel away from her brother’s rickety crutches. “You’ll take Jacobus’ cut.”
“That’s fair,” Jacobus beamed over his shoulder at the tall orc. “Levi and I will hold down the ranch.”
“You and what working leg?” Willamina teased, nodding back toward the house. “Think you can make it inside? Or does Boone gotta cart you everywhere?”
“I can make it,” Jacobushuffed, rolling his eyes.
“Then scoot and go tell Ma you’re home,” Willamina instructed, stepping around him.
“What…why? Will, please, be nice to Boone. He told me not to go! I just wanted some drinks before the last push. You know it’s the longest one; takes forever with no good whiskey.”
Willamina shot her brother a stern look, “Boy, if you don’t hobble your way back into that house and get your weight off that bad leg, I’ll break the other one.”
“Yes,ma’am.”
“I’ll flatten you!” She inhaled sharply through her nose as her brother cackled. His crutches grinding the rocks beneath it all the way to the massive farmhouse. Willamina stood awkwardly, her back to Boone, hands still stuffed in her back pocket.Fucking shit piss motherfucking gods damnit cunt bag!Her mother would box her ears if she could hear it, but then again, that would mean she stopped sewing or cooking or cleaning long enough to listen to her daughter. Daniella Jones became a routine machine after Herc died. Willamina watched her mother deteriorate into a ghost of the person she used to be. A proud harpy that kept her nest spick and span, that loved her kids and her husband, and the little happiness they carved out in an unforgiving land.
Willamina got her temper from her mother, along with the leather wings that exploded out of her back when she was pissed. When she was in control of herself, she was a daemon, just like her brother. Her mop of strawberry blond curls, pointy ears, and fangs. But when she was truly livid, she grew wings, her fingers turned into claws, and her feet into talons.Erinyes are a fun mix, the best of both worlds, that’s what Daddy used to say.
Finally in control of her sharp tongue and temper, she twisted back to Boone. He leaned against the tractor still, just as cool and calm. Always an unbreakable mountain of a man. Arms folded over thegreat expanse of his chest, strong tusks, piercing yellow eyes, and all his rust brown hair gathered in a soft bun at the back of his head. She pursed her lips before letting go of her ire with a huff.
“Look, it’s just Roger and I tomorrow. We’ll be up at sunrise. You’ll need to ride Gracie’s girl, Kaffa. Jacobus’ little speeder will pitch a fit if anyone but her precious boy rides her.”
Boone snickered, a sweet smile gracing his lips. “Understood.”
“Pack what you need; we’ll be out for a few weeks, minimum.”
“Will,” he exhaled softly. It flipped her stomach as she glanced up from the hole she burned in the gravel with her stare.
Gods no.She hated that the most. Hated that despite how much she told herself he was the bane of her existence…he simply had to sigh, call her name, and cock his head, and her heart fluttered.
Why did you have to befriend him? Why couldn’t you just have ignored Jacobus? Why couldn’t I have met you first, without my baby brother or the weight of my family hanging on me?Cause if she’d met him on a night out at the tavern, something she hadn’t done in years, she’d be in love with Boone Larokson.
“I’ll be back tonight by suppertime; I’ll stay in Jacobus’ room. And I’ll be here in the morning. Do you need anything from the city before I come back? Gods know you’re going to be finishing up that fence till the last second.”
Willamina glanced over her shoulder at the half-finished fence and pouted to herself for a minute.He’s right.There was no time to run out to town to get the last-minute things she wanted to snatch before the run. She was hoping Jacobus would be back yesterday. Sending him out to get supplies was easy, because all the people in the market loved her baby brother. He was sweet, charming, and a people person. They gave him discounts just for smiling at babies and talking with the elderly watching the people walk by.
“We could use a few things,” she grumbled, pulling the crumpled list out of her pocket.
Boone took it from her slowly, like she might snatch it back if he moved too fast. When their fingers brushed, her body lit up in sparks.Stupid, pretty guy.He pulled out those damn cute spectacles off the front of his shirt and unfolded them with a simple shake. Willamina focused her attention on the expanse of the ranch, looking at all the cattle taking up the opposite end. All three hundred of them about to travel out to the stronghold for slaughter and trade.
“Next year we gotta have more people,” she muttered.
“Agreed,” he nodded.
“Would be easier if my bone headed brother…” she realized too late she was speaking out loud and snapped her attention back to Boone. “What are you still doing here? You’ve got stuff to pack and a grocery list. Go on, get! I got a fucking fence to fix.”
Boone chuckled, tucking the list away. The sound would live in her ears for until the end of time as he pushed away from the tractor. Willamina tried her best not to acknowledge the tingles running up and down her back.Get to work! Stop!Storming back to her fence, she jumped over Levi’s new post hole he was working on and returned to Roger. The great thing about the minotaur was, he didn’t ask questions. Didn’t judge, didn’t speak on whatever just happened. Just eyeballed her once, then nodded back to the post. Willamina took ahold of it and held it straight as he poured the wet cement around the base of it.
Chapter Two
Boone
Walking into town, he stopped by the tavern first. On the front porch were the retired cowboys and miners who sat, drank frosty beer, and yelled at each other every day. If he wanted information, this was the place to get it. All roads passed by the tavern in some way, shape, or form. Boone propped a foot up onto the only step up into the tavern, his elbow resting on the railing, he stared at Jobe. A old daemon with a jagged scar across his face from where he lost a chunk of his nose. The story always changed, but the end was the same. Jobe came home, bloodied and with new lens on life. Opening up the tavern that was the central hub of Irongarde’s people. Not the out of towners, but the people who lived and breathed here.
“Oi! Boone!” Jobe laughed, his eyes alight with alcohol and merriment.
