He turns, eyes narrowing—then widening like twin saucers when he sees the ball of black and white fur in my hands.
“Oh fuck no!” Rory staggers back, eyes glued to the skunk’s raised tail as I angle its butt directly at him.
The little guy obliges, letting out another tiny poot.
Rory yelps, nearly tripping over himself as he bolts back, waving a hand in front of his face. “Goddammit, Briella! Are ye mad?!”
His brows thread low as I double over, laughing. The skunk cozies deeper into my arms. “This little guy just happens to be de-scented, dumbass. Someone lost him or dumped him.”
I look down at the poor, sweet skunk as it nestles into my arms. It makes a gentlechurrsound, almost like a tiny engine purring. Nose buried in the crook of my arm, it snuffles quietly.
“Yeah, you liked that Fig Newton, huh?” I murmur, my heart softening in a way it hasn’t in weeks. The skunk lets out a breathyeep, as if agreeing, and I swear I catch the faintest sound of tiny teeth clicking in contentment.
Rory glares, red-faced and furious. He tightens his grip on the belt and storms toward me. “You think this is funny?”
I shrug and smile up at him. “Pretty funny. You know, like the time I?—”
Rory cuts off my words with one strong chokehold, siphoning my breath. But even though the little skunk tenses, I keep my hold as tender as possible.
And then…a hand clamps around Rory’s arm.
Raphael.
I hadn’t even heard him approach, but there he is—tall, dark, eyes hard as green stone, always dressed impeccably with Jude, Seth, and Vincent a few steps behind him.
Raphael’s grip tightens, holding Rory’s wrist mid-swing. “No, Rory,” he says, calm but hard as steel.
Rory’s jaw works, teeth grinding. He yanks his arm free with a growl and storms off toward the butcher shed, belt dragging in the dirt behind him.
Good riddance.
I look up at Raphael, cradling the skunk against my chest, hopeful. “Can I keep him?” I ask. “Please? I’ll be his momma. I’ll do everything.”
Raphael studies me, head tilting slightly, unreadable as always. I hold his gaze…on the verge of tears because of how much I want the skunk.
Finally, Raphael gives me a single, sharp nod. “You may keep it.”
I let out a squeal, nearly dancing. Instead, I feel mischievous and steal Raphael’s newsboy cap and plop it on my head. There is that tug on the corners of his mouth again. A subtle smile of approval.
Beaming, I pet the skunk’s head. “I think Pew Pew will be a good name for you. Like the French skunk.” Even if he can’t actually pew.
Jude chuckles, shaking his head. “Leave it to our little Queen to find the one de-scented skunk in the mass of Redwood forest.”
Seth, his axe over his shoulder as always, leans in to kiss my cheek as I pass, grinning. “I’ll help you take care of him if you want.”
“I’ll be the one to do that, Seth,” insists Vincent.
I turn and smile at Tats. “I’d like that.” He’s still quiet and broody as ever, but he still wears his hoodie every day, always washing it at night. He keeps it in good condition, and I swear he wants to preserve my handiwork.
We start back toward the cabin, Pew Pew cozy in my arms, his tiny paws kneading my chest like he’s making himself at home.
For the first time in a long time, I feel it—the tiniest, sweetest taste of freedom.
But as we head into the cabin, a deep ache settles in my chest. Because I have nearly everything ready to leave.
So, why the hell am I trying to put down roots? Why am I clinging to this little animal like he’s a promise of something better? I won’t be able to bring him with me if I take the horse, will I? Not with the pace I’ll need to move. Not with the miles I’ll have to cover on foot when the roads run out.
I glance down at him, the way his pink nose twitches, as though he trusts me, like I’msafe. Maybe if I wrap him in one of those shirts I stashed in the hayloft. Tuck him into my backpack, snug and hidden.
