Page 42 of Runaway Hucow

“Again!” Spike roared.

“You got it.”

They turned and paced away from each other, preparing for a second charge. The little hucow was still shouting from the porch, and when Roscoe glanced in her direction, he saw that her previously blushing face had blanched to the bloodless color of snow.

“We have to stop them,” she was saying. “They’re going to give each other brain damage.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Peyton said. “I don’t think either one of them has anything left to damage at this point.”

Insolent little fucker.

Roscoe turned to face his brother again. Spike was already in position. They didn’t waste any time staring each other down, they just got right to it and started charging. Their skulls collided, and more fireworks exploded inside Roscoe’s head.

This time, his horns locked with Spike’s. Both of them dug in hard with their hooves, neither one giving an inch. It was a deadlock.

“That’s a draw,” Spike said, smirking.

Furious, Roscoe twisted his horns free. This time, he was the one who yelled, “Again!”

“You got it,” Spike said, still smirking.

As he stomped back into position, Roscoe’s rage was like a thunderstorm inside his brain. He didn’t like being fought to a draw by his little brother. Spike was stronger than usual this evening. A lot stronger. He didn’t look as though he’d put on too much weight since the last time they’d done this. There had to be some other reason.

As soon as Roscoe hit his mark, he turned and started to charge. Spike was ready for him, and he rushed forward to meet him again. Roscoe’s body tensed in preparation for the jarring impact. At the last second, however, he noticed Spike slowing to a halt. Then he noticed a flurry of movement in his peripheral vision.

It was the hucow. The crazy little creature had come down off the porch, and she was about to throw herself between Roscoe and Spike.

Roscoe dug in his hooves and skidded to a halt mere inches from the female. She pressed one tiny hand against his chest and the other against Spike’s, as if holding the two of them apart. It was absurd, considering how tiny and weak she was.

Then again, she had gotten them both to halt.

“Stop it,” she shouted, and Roscoe saw that she had tears in her eyes. The most beautiful brown eyes he’d ever seen. “Both of you! Stop it right this instant! I won’t have you fighting over me like a couple of wild animals.”

Peyton had been chasing after her, and now he wrapped his arms around her and dragged her back to the porch, but she continued shouting and crying.

Roscoe grumbled. He was still angry, but most of the rage had gone out of him. Something in the little hucow’s eyes had extinguished it.

“I’ll not have you throwing her out of the valley,” Spike said.

Roscoe turned and looked at his brother, who was rubbing his head where they had collided.

“She’s an outsider,” Roscoe said. “And a runaway. Men will come looking for her. They’ll find our valley. They’ll discover the herd.” He gestured at a cluster of grazing bison who had been watching the fight.

Spike shrugged. Most of the anger had left him too, it seemed. “What good will it do sending her away now? She’s already seen the valley. She knows where we live. She knows about the herd. If we send her away, and she gets captured, you don’t think the men who catch her will question her about where she’s been hiding?”

Damn.

The little bastard had a point.

The only way to ensure that the valley remained a secret would be to kill the hucow, but Roscoe knew he wasn’t capable of that. And he knew Spike knew that too. Besides, even if they did kill her, there would still be men looking for her, so it wouldn’t even really solve the problem.

“This is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into,” Roscoe said. “Fuck, I need some time to think. Okay, she can stay here for tonight at least. Tomorrow, we’ll figure out what we’re going to do about her.”

That seemed to satisfy Spike. The naked minotaur gave a curt nod and walked back to the house. Roscoe watched, and shook his head.

Somewhere above and behind him, an eagle screamed. A second later, Chase came flapping down and landed on his shoulder. The bird had obviously found himself some dinner. His talons were still wet with the blood of whatever varmint he’d caught and eaten.

Roscoe gave his head another shake. “A fine mess indeed.”