He'd come out into the sunshine and pushed his baseball cap back on his head to reveal a wide smile. "Hey, bunny. There you go. You're safe now. Have a nice bunny life." He actually waved, then, as she sat there in star-struck awe, flapped his hand at her. "Go on, bunny. Stay away from traps!"
Her rabbit flinched as he flapped his hand: flapping things were scary. But Emmy never wanted to go anywhere in the whole wide world again, if the hiker wasn't there. The goodness in his heart practically radiated from his handsome, strong-jawed, broad-shouldered, hiking-gear-wearing self. He was very, very tall. Of course, almost everyone was, from a rabbit's point of view. Even a big rabbit's. But he was tall for real, too!
He was also sweaty, even disheveled, both from hiking and from rescuing a terrified rabbit. His arms were brown from sunshine, and what hair stuck out from beneath his baseball cap was sun-bleached, and he was sensibly wearing long pants to keep ticks away but they fit snugly against what were clearly terrific thighs, and he was the most appealing person Emmy had ever laid eyes on. And it wasn't even because he'd rescued her.
No, it was that her hero was absolutely, without question, her fated mate. The person she was meant to be with. The man of her dreams. The perfect guy.
And she was a bunny, with no way to tell him without instantly revealing her secret.
CHAPTER2
Karl Sutton had never seen a rabbit that big before.
He kept thinking about it, as he continued his hike. He was supposed to be another eight miles east by evening, more if he could make it, but the bunny, like,hauntedhim. It had sat there in the middle of the meadow for a bizarrely long time, once it had hopped out of reach. It had looked at him like it wanted to communicate, although he had no idea what a bunny would say. 'Carrots, please,' he supposed. They'd stood there looking at each other for at least a full minute, maybe longer—and a minute was actually a really long time when you were gazing into a wild animal's eyes—before it had heaved a very large bunny sigh and hopped away into the woods.
Karl had hitched his backpack higher and struck off along the path he was following, but he kept looking back and looking around, like the rabbit would be there to keep him company. Part of him thought it hadn't even been a real rabbit. He was fairly certain rabbits did not come in XXL sizes, although that one had been so unbelievably cute that they really should.
There was a town just south of his hiking trail, a place called Virtue. He'd semi-consciously avoided it while planning his trek, on the assumption that it would be full of the kinds of judgemental people who thought living in a town called Virtue signalled something about their values. He still thought that, but for some reason, rescuing the rabbit had really thrown his day off kilter. Possibly a night at a hostel, where he could take a shower and sleep on a mattress, would be good for him. He'd been on the trail a long time, and his last break had been ten days ago. Somehow the last eight miles to his planned rest spot seemed like too much for today.
"Mom would say listen to your body," he said aloud to himself. "So listen. You've been walking for seven months. One more day isn't that big a deal."
"But Karl," he added in a mocking high-pitched voice that he'd assigned to the part of him that never had listened to his mom, anyway, "you're so close! Eight miles is four hours at the most! What's another four hours?"
Well, for one thing, it was four more hours of listening to himself do a stupid voice, and when he got like that, it wasdefinitelytime to talk to other real live human beings. He checked his hiking map app. It claimed there was a public-access path leading almost straight into Virtue less than half a mile ahead of him.
Of course, four times out of five, those public paths had a catch. Sometimes the catch was an owner who didn't even know therewasa public path on their property, and came out with a shotgun to see what he was doing. Sometimes it was a swamp. There was almost always something. Still, Karl took the branch when he reached it, and was heartened by a well-kept kissing gate in the fence where the path met private land. Maybe this would be one of the good ones. He went through the zig-zag of the gate and struck out across the pasture, watching bees dancing with young dandelions. It was a gorgeous afternoon, and everything was perfect.
Everything except the cows on the far side of the pasture hill he crested.
Cows were often not a problem. They were pretty chill, for animals that could weigh a couple thousand pounds. They mostly chewed cud and watch him walk on by when he had cause to pass them on his hike. A few friendly ones had ambled over for some lovies, and Karl had come to appreciate why 'cow eyes' had once been a flattering beauty standard. They really did have big beautiful eyes, with long lashes. He liked those cows. Those were nice cows.
He did not like cows with babies.
Or, rather, cows with babies were adorable, because babies were adorable. However, cows with babies also felt they had something to protect, and very unfortunately for Karl, these cows had babies. At least eight of them.
Eight was a lot of babies, and, by weight, alotof cautious mamas.
And the public access pathway went right smack through the middle of their little herd.
He turned around to look back the way he'd come, and laughed. Not a funny laugh. More ironic despair. There were now cows behind him, too. Cows with babies. Big-eyed, silly, romping babies who were simultaneously extremely cute and also representative of a great and terrible danger. No one in their right mind wanted to accidentally get between a large hoofed mammal and its infant. Karl liked to think he was in his right mind, despite having decided to walk across the entire continental United States.
There was no going forward and there was certainly no going back. Not for a while. Possibly not forquitea while, given that a couple of the calves looked like they were settling down for a nap. There was fresh water and new grass for the cows to eat. He could be there all night. Karl looked behind himself again, then down the hill at the little herd in front of him.
Maybe if he went slowly and cautiously, speaking gently the whole way, the cows would meander to one side, or at least not trample him to death if he passed between one and its baby. He said, "Hey cow," as softly as he could.
A couple of tails twitched, but otherwise, they didn't seem to care. Karl began a murmur of pleasant nonsense, "I'm just walking along here, okay, cows? I'm just going to follow this trail to the other side of your pasture and then I'll be out of your hair. Fur? Horns. Out of your horns. I definitely don't want to be in your horns," he told them soothingly.
They were clearly accustomed to humans. Most of them didn't pay him any attention at all, although a few of the calves stepped his direction, curiously, and one—evidently a cautious soul—pressed up to its mother. "That's a nice baby," he told it. "Stay nice and snuggly with mama. I'm just walking along here, minding my own business…"
He got most of the way through the little herd before a calf snuffled with excitement and gamboled straight across the path in front of him, chasing a butterfly. The calf's mother snorted with warning, not at the baby, but at Karl, who made more soothing noises and tried to back away.
He bumped into another cow who'd snuck up behind him, closed his eyes, and whispered a prayer. This was it. His gravestone would read 'Here Lies Karl Sutton, Trampled To Death By Cows.' The fine print would say 'stay out from between mamas and babies, kids, it ends badly.'
A few seconds later, one of the cows made a noise he had never heard before. A pleased snort, as if amused. Karl hadn't known cows could think things were funny. He peeled one eye open, and there, twenty or so feet away, sat the very large bunny from earlier. It—she; Karl was determined to think of it as a she, for some reason—sat up on her haunches, twitched her nose, and thumped one foot invitingly. Then she bounced a couple steps away, paused, and looked over her shoulder.
The cow snorted as if amused again, and took a step toward the rabbit.
The calf, distracted from the butterfly, whirled on one hoof and boinged, stiff-legged, after the rabbit, who bounced merrily away, then broke into a full bunny sprint as the whole herd of cows went galumphing after it, all of them tossing their heads and flinging their tails around like this was great fun. The rabbit stayed just ahead of them, darting this way and that, by all appearances leading them in a game of tag.
