Page 24 of Runaway Hucow

Still, she was determined to keep her distance from Spike, and from his brother Peyton too. She’d actually managed to do so for a few hours. After arriving, they’d gotten the horses corralled, then Spike had set off across the valley by himself, leaving Tess alone with his brother. Peyton had given her a really quick tour of the farm, although he hadn’t shown her the inside of that strange barn where he’d been working earlier. Then he’d brought her some water and told her to relax in one of the giant rocking chairs on the front porch while he cleaned up inside the house to make it presentable.

Tess had gratefully accepted the water and the hour of solitude on the front porch. Not that she minded being around the minotaurs. On the contrary, she liked being around them a little too much. Or at least her body did. Her breasts were starting to feel full and heavy again, and she knew if she spent too much time in close proximity to the brothers, she was going to have another incident like the one that had happened that morning by the river—and she didn’t want that.

She did, but she didn’t.

So now here she was, sitting at a table with the two handsomest bison minotaurs she’d ever seen. Granted, they were also the only bison minotaurs she’d ever seen, but she really couldn’t imagine how one could be more handsome. Or smell better. Or just generally feel so good to be around. Everything about them, the way they moved, the way they talked, the way they looked at her, all of it made Tess feel so at ease, so safe.

Except for her breasts—those didn’t feel safe—but she was pretty sure she would be able to at least make it through the night without needing to be milked again, so long as she went to bed right after supper was over.

But where was she going to be sleeping, she wondered. Did the bisonmen have a guest bedroom in their cottage? It seemed unlikely, considering how secluded it was.

“Here, try some of this bread,” Spike said.

He tore a nice big hunk from the loaf and set it next to Tess’s bowl. When she tasted it, she nearly moaned with enjoyment. It was a day old, and the crust was a lot harder than what she was used to, but it was the first piece of real bread she’d had since being taken to Crooked Valley, and it tasted like a little chunk of heaven. She dunked it in her soup and took another bite, and that tasted even better.

“It’s good,” she said. “Really good. Did you bake it yourselves?”

“No ma’am,” Peyton said with a chuckle. “To tell you the truth, we don’t cook a whole lot around here. Mostly we just eat grass.” The bespectacled bisonman was loading up his plate with grass even as he spoke. “We usually don’t even use the dishes and silverware. It’s nice to have an excuse to break them out.”

Tess liked listening to Peyton talk. His voice wasn’t quite as deep and rumbling as his brother’s, but it had a smooth, resonant quality that reminded her of someone strumming a guitar. She thought she could listen to that voice for hours on end, but she reminded herself she wasn’t supposed to be spending hours in the bisonmen’s company. Not if she wanted to keep her milk production from getting out of control.

She was still curious about the bread though.

Luckily, Spike answered that for her a second later. “The bread was baked by the Walkers. They live down the valley a ways. They were kind enough to give us the vegetables for this soup too. I guess you could say the Walkers are like our cousins.”

Aha. So that must be where Spike had wandered off to earlier.

“Are the Walkers… minotaurs too?”

“No ma’am,” Spike said. “The Walkers are humans. They’re part Shoshone, related to old Chief Walkara over in Utah. It was Granny Walker who raised me and Peyton and our other brother Roscoe when we were little.”

It was difficult to imagine the bisonmen ever being little.

But Tess was curious. If Spike and Peyton had been raised by humans, that meant something must have happened to their parents. Were they orphans? Tess wanted to find out more, but she felt it would be rude to ask.

Suddenly, Peyton thumped the table with his fist, jerking Tess right out of her thoughts.

“Hey!” the bespectacled bisonman exclaimed, grinning. “I think this calls for a celebration. You two wait right here, I’ll be back in just a minute.”

He hopped up from the table and trotted out the door, leaving Tess and Spike alone in the strange golden glow of the electric lightbulb, and the softer orange glow coming from the wood stove. Tess listened as Peyton’s hoofsteps faded into the night, then she turned and looked at Spike.

The way the bisonman was looking back at her made her nipples pebble beneath her shirt.

“This is a good place, Tess,” he said after a moment. “A safe place. As long as you stay here, I promise no harm will come to you, and we’ll make sure you have everything you could ever need or want. Good food, comfortable clothes… a warm bed to sleep in.”

Now Tess was wondering about that bed again. She still hadn’t gotten a full tour of the inside of the house, so she wasn’t sure where she was going to be sleeping tonight. She wanted to ask, but she was having trouble thinking or talking while Spike was looking at her so intensely.

She wanted to kiss him again. A long, deep, sexy kiss like the one they had shared this morning at the river. She was supposed to be keeping her distance from him though, and kissing was the opposite of keeping her distance. But she felt herself leaning closer to him, as if drawn by a magnet. She could feel his warm breath on her lips. Another moment, and they’d be touching.

The front door burst open, and Tess quickly jerked away as a rush of heat filled her cheeks. She whipped her head around and saw Peyton standing there grinning with a big stoneware jug in one hand.

“Cider!” he declared happily, plunking the jug down on the table. “I made it last fall, and I’ve been keeping it down in the root cellar. Almost forgot I had it. Let’s see if it’s any good.”

He gathered three massive stoneware mugs from a cupboard by the wall and set them on the table. Then he uncorked the jug and started to pour. He slid the first mug across the table to Tess.

She eyed it warily. She was no stranger to libations. She’d been known to enjoy a cup or two of beer and wine back when she’d been living with her adopted father. She’d even tasted whiskey once, and liked it. Nor was she worried about the two minotaurs taking advantage of her. She trusted them.

It was herself she didn’t trust.