Season of the Wolf Pt. 01

The attic is full of dusty remnants from another time. In here the ghosts from the past don't whisper. They shout. The basement is dank and the furnace with its steel arms stretching up into the bowels of the house, a little too Freddy Kruger for me. I focus on these negative things about the house and use them as a weapon against the spell the rest of the place is weaving around me.

The house is drawing me in and I'm not convinced that this is where I want to be. Han is weaving a spell of an entirely different nature. I can't afford not to be immune to him. He lovingly strokes the wooden kitchen table as he pulls out a chair and orders me to sit before I fall over. I can imagine his hands on me stroking my body just as affectionately. It's obvious he has fond memories of sitting at this battered antique kitchen table. I wish I knew what they were. I wish I could know my grandfather the way he did.

Han is sort of pushy. He assumes I'm going to let him continue on in his current role as caretaker of this place. For now, I haven't got any choice. I haven't quite wrapped my mind around why someone with a law degree would settle for living out here and shoveling shit for free room and board instead of earning a hefty salary at a law firm. The only thing that I can think of is that he was born and raised here and he doesn't have the heart to leave.

He is adept in the kitchen. He fills a kettle with water and sits it on the stove while he riffles through the cabinets and the fridge and assembles a makeshift lunch for the two of us. There is no two of us. I have to keep reminding myself of that. He is my employee in a manner of speaking. Other than conversations pertaining to the house and the paperwork I've signed to make it mine. We've spoken very little on a personal level. He gives nothing of himself away.

I'm expecting a cup of Lipton's. He surprises me by fetching a metal canister out of the cabinet and dropping a steeper into my cup. He tells me that my grandfather knew a great deal about herbs and wild plants. The tea, a tisane, he calls it, is what is left of my grandfather's secret blend. I'm curious about what's in it, but the mint flavor and warmth is soothing and before I know it, I'm on my second cup.

Han munches on some grapes and sips the cup he made for himself. We sit in courteous silence, nibbling on the tidbits he assembled on the plate and sipping the tea. I try to stifle a yawn and fail miserably. He smiles in understanding and collects the empty mugs and plate. The sun is setting. I've taken up his entire day and he gently reminds me that he has to tend to the animals before calling it a night. Chickens really do come home to roost. Who knew?

Before I can ask, not that I would though. He is unloading my car and depositing my boxes in the living room. I roll my eyes at his unasked question. Is this really all I own? Well, not since I've signed his papers it isn't. But, yes I basically moved from California with nothing much more than the clothes on my back. Han gently prods me toward the stairs and tells me to take my pick of the bedrooms. I was going to do that anyway and don't need his permission, but I thank him and pause to tell him goodnight before heading up. I'm reassured by the sound of the front door locking closed as I peel off my clothes and head to the tub for a bath.

The bathroom is clean. I can tell because the smell of cleaning chemicals is still in the air. I wonder if he scrubbed the tub as part of his job as groundskeeper or not. I can hear him outside talking to the animals. It's kind of laughable, a rugged man like Han baby talking a thousand pound horse and I chuckle at the sound of it.

The tea and the hot steamy water are a miracle. I'm lounging in the tub as if I've lived here all my life. I pull on a camisole top and shorts I've rescued from my bags and climb into the big four-poster bed Han assured me was my grandfather's and fall fast asleep to the sound of neighing horses, crickets, babbling creeks, and the leaves rustling in the breeze. That night I dream harder than I've ever dreamt. I dream of wolves and of Han and of my grandfather and of running not with the pack but at the head of them.

Chapter 10

I awake to the sound of chirping birds and the warmth of sunlight streaming across my face. For a minute, I'm confused about where I am. The absent noise of traffic and the neighbors in the apartments around me and of course, Christine's most recent drama reminds me that I'm not in California anymore. I need to call her today. Somehow in the confusion of yesterday I forgot to check my phone for reception. Today, even if I have to use a string and two paper cups, I will contact her. I yawn and am amazed by how well I slept. If it weren't for the brightness of the morning I could roll over and doze for another couple of hours.

The springs in the mattress groan as I sit up and throw my feet over the edge of the bed. It's a beautiful day. A cool breeze ruffles through the curtains and fills the room with the smell of flowers in bloom. Other than calling Christine, I determine that today I will explore this big house and the grounds. I might unpack a few things and tuck away the boxes containing my less important stuff in one of the massive closets.

This bedroom is almost as big as my entire apartment. How did Christine and I share such a small space without killing each other? Well, we did get on one another's nerves on occasion. This morning there isn't anybody to get on my nerves and I'm relishing the thought. I don't bother dressing. I pad barefoot through the house in the shorts and camisole top I slept in last night. When Rod set up shop in Christine's room I used to have to pull on a robe or clothes to get a simple cup of coffee. I don't have to worry about that either anymore. I've got the place entirely to myself.

My nose must be playing tricks on me. I smell freshly brewed coffee and bacon sizzling in a skillet. By the time I realize I haven't got the house as to myself as I thought it's too late to rush back up the stairs without causing a scene. I march into the kitchen and grab the mug Han set out for me and pour the first cup of the day. I'm going to have to set up some ground rules. He may have barged in whenever he felt like it before. But, from now on he is going to be treated like the tenant he is and that means knocking at the front door just like anybody else.

Han parks a heaping plate of bacon and eggs with toast and fresh berries beneath my nose before sitting down at the kitchen table and digging into his own portion. After the first bite I'm rethinking the barging in thing if it means breakfasts like this and hot, fresh coffee in the pot every morning. Han is my groundskeeper not my chef. I can operate a toaster and a coffee maker as well as the next person and I can manage on my own.

This morning Han is dressed for physical labor in a pair of battered blue jeans and a faded snug fitting t-shirt. I wonder what he has on his agenda for the day. If he has anything planned or if he wouldn't mind completing the grand tour, and I decide to ask. He pins me with one of his disarming smiles and says that was exactly his plan. He waves me along to hurry me up which has the opposite effect and I eat slower and lazily sip my coffee.

I don't move until I've finished at least one full cup of coffee. Even if I have to be somewhere early in the morning, I'll set my alarm an hour before I'm scheduled to leave. Not because it takes me an hour to get ready. But, so I can have time for that most important first cup of the day. I can see that my lazy morning routine grates Han. He doesn't say so, but I can tell. Han is one of those people that can bounce out of bed and be out the door in ten minutes. I'm not and I refuse to become one. I move to sink and rinse my empty plate before pouring a second cup.

Han's coffee is good. Hot and strong, just the way I like it. I take my time stirring in cream and sugar and stare out at the world through the kitchen window. It's a beautiful day, warm and sunny, and a perfect day for a hike. I can feel his eyes on me, watching me in that intense way I've so quickly come to associate with him. It makes me blush. Especially since I'm wearing nothing underneath my shorts and camisole top. I'm very underdressed for company.

Normally, I would bask in a little male appreciation, but with him it's different. His stare on me is totally masculine. Not hungry or desperate, but assured, as if he has already decided that he is going to get what he wants and what he wants is me. Han is one of those men who take no prisoners when it comes to the opposite sex. He sees. He conquers. He devours the prize. He is certain of his place in this world and of me. I on the other hand am not sure of anything, especially not of him.

The way he looks at me shoots warmth through me from my toes to the top of my head. It's a giddy feeling and in some ways makes me feel the gushing female. I can sense his protectiveness of me as if he has already placed his mark on me. I find myself wanting to trust and to like him. He certainly seems to be likable enough and everything he has done this far has been above board. I come from a place where trust is hard earned and I'm not completely taken in by a few nice gestures. I've always prided myself on my independence. I don't need a protector and I'm not in the market for a boyfriend or even a quick one-night affair. Ok, so a night with Han would probably rock my world. But, I get the sense that it wouldn't stop there between the two of us.

I'm not one to be ruled by my heart. I'm torn between so many things right now. An entanglement with Han would be best avoided. I'm attracted to him. This house and the land I've inherited are intimidating. I'm curious about my family. I miss Christine and her dramatic ways. I long for the insanity of L.A. I'm not quite sure of where I belong. Until I at the very minimum figure out if I'm staying here or going somewhere else I can't afford to let my guard down. I can't risk falling in love with this place or with him and I've already decided to keep my distance.

I have to admit, much like Han, this house has a disarming charm. The isolation and quiet should grate me, but they don't. The slow pace of this new life should have me pulling my hair our in frustration, but it doesn't. There's a sense of belonging here that I've felt no place else. As if after a long voyage away, I've finally come home. Perhaps, since I'm so far away from everything and everyone I've ever known. I'm just desperate or lonely and I want to believe this place could become a home.

"Did you sleep well last night?" His question draws me out of the racing thoughts in my head. Amazingly enough I slept incredibly well considering I'm in a strange place. I nod in response. He smiles and says, "Good." The chair scrapes against the wood floor as he gets up and rinses out his empty coffee mug. Han grins wickedly at me as if he is in on some kind of secret. He tells me to dress in jeans and boots if I've got them. He begins snatching things out of the fridge and assembling a makeshift lunch of sandwiches. He sticks an apple in his pocket and tosses one to me. "For the horses," he explains.

I'm still contemplating the apple as he finishes up and stuffs our lunch in a bag. He is out the backdoor and on his way to the barn before it finally dawns on me what his plans for us truly involve. "Horses," I say doubtfully. I've never ridden a horse in my life. The thought of trusting my life to a thousand pound animal is a bit terrifying. But, I've driven on the California freeway in rush hour traffic and that's something a sane person with any regard for life and limb would never do. Riding a horse has got to be safer than that. Right?

I'm dressed in record time in jeans and an old t-shirt. I don't own a pair of boots and my tennis shoes will have to do. I nibble at my bottom lip and stuff my phone in my hip pocket. I haven't gone anywhere without my phone ever. I feel naked without it. I still have no reception, but haven't managed to track down a landline yet. I vow to call Christine tonight after my adventure on horseback.

I walk to the barn and sneeze at the smell of fresh hay and horse. I thought the horses and the barn would reek like poop. It's an earthy smell, but not unpleasant. Han gives me the lowdown and hands me the reins. The horse regards me with mild interest. Yeah, if I were going to be hauling someone around on my back all day, I'd want an introduction too. Her name is Ginger and she's a sorrel mare and the gentlest horse in the stable, Han reassures. I try to make friends with the horse and offer up the apple exactly the way Han showed me to. Her lips tickle my palm as she accepts my offering and munches contemplatively.

She is big. I wonder exactly how I'm supposed to climb onto her back when Han demonstrates by climbing into the saddle and sliding off again. I'm hesitant, but never one to back down from a challenge, I put my foot in the stirrup and grab the saddle horn with determination. I work out in a gym and getting onto her back isn't nearly as difficult as it appeared. I'm up and in the saddle and gripping the horn as if my life depends on it. Which, it very well may. Han eases my fingers loose and puts the reins in my hand. He reminds me of the basics of horse navigation and leaves me sitting atop Ginger as he gracefully lands in the saddle of his mount, a big black stallion named Tasunke. Which, Han explains, simply means horse in Algonquin.

I jiggle the reins and Ginger doesn't move. Han snickers and gives his horse a gentle nudge with the heel of his boot. Like that, as if Han had waved a magic wand, Ginger falls in line and we're off. I'm riding a horse. We go slowly while I get the feel of it. Han smiles encouragingly at me and urges me to stretch Ginger's legs. There's a rhythm to the rise and fall of her hooves and I go with it. She sets an easy pace and my body moves with the motion. Some of my tension and nervousness melts away as we ride across the flat meadow.

Han reins to a stop at the gate and climbs down to hold it open for me. He assures me that I can't get lost on the trail that leads up into the woods. Even if I don't know the way home, Ginger does. He makes sure the gate is tightly closed before hoisting himself up into the saddle. He explains that the pasture gate has to be kept tightly closed otherwise we'll spend the day chasing wandering cows.

He leads the way along the trail and glances over his shoulder to make sure that Ginger and I are keeping up. We are. I really don't have to do a thing. Ginger automatically falls into step behind him. I keep a hold on the reins and the saddle horn and slowly begin to lose myself in the scenery. I'm a cowgirl and my blood sings as I begin to realize that this, the rugged trail, the horse beneath me, and the beauty of this place is a fundamental part of me that I didn't even know I was missing.

Chapter 11

Grace surprises me, happily so and much to my chagrin embarrassingly so. I'm hard and eager at nothing more than a glance of her in her pajamas. The outfit isn't what does it for me. I've seen women in far less as nothing more than a circumstance of my way of life. It's her. She does it for me and, damn, I am ready to show exactly what I can do for her. The thoughts, while not unwelcome, are definitely out of place and will have to wait.

She is not the kind of woman to fall under a man's spell so easily. She has an iron clad will and I'm glad that at least one of us does. She knows I'm watching her though she pretends not to notice. Her nipples press tightly against the snug camisole top and I catch a hint of their berry shade through the thin fabric. The shorts hug her butt and ride high on her shapely legs. She isn't wearing a thing under the shorts and the top. The idea of how very little fabric separates us has me whimpering like a pup.

Grace is a natural born wolf, stealthy and somewhat craftily scheming to the very core of her soul. She puts on a good show of benign indifference. As if her lack of clothing doesn't faze her and she is totally oblivious to the effect it has on me. Her body knows what her mind isn't quite ready to grasp. She is attracted to me. Drawn to me on an elemental level she can't rationalize. My wolf slips off the chain and douses the air with his magic calling her to us. She retreats to the window and stares out at the unfolding day rather than acknowledge us.

I pull back on my wolf and get busy packing a lunch for Grace and myself. Today, she is getting an introduction to my world. A trip on horseback to the far corners of it is a perfect place to start. Grace accepts the invitation with a careless shrug of her shoulders. She is contemplating the idea of riding a horse and is trying valiantly to tamp down on her fear of an animal five times her size.

I've already sorted that out. We could ride the ATVs and take a look at things, but she'll have a much better view and appreciation of the landscape if it isn't flying past her. I'll take it easy on her today. Ginger is gentle as a lamb and doesn't startle easily. She'll be perfect for Grace.

I need space between Grace and myself desperately. My wolf wants what it wants and it doesn't help that I'm of the same mind. Far too many times my animal nature takes the helm of our shared body. This time my human side must have control. I could have Grace by exerting my will over her. But, that isn't what I want or she needs. I'd rather romance her and coax her to me than to demand she heel to my call.

Her wolf is so close to the surface. I can sense her just beneath the thin veneer of Grace's humanity. Grace needs time she doesn't have to accept her new life. She slept restlessly last night. I know because I kept vigil over her in the wee hours before dawn. No, I'm not a stalker and I assured her privacy in the big bed. I gave my body over to my wolf and he stood guard, patrolling the periphery and marking his territory to warn off the males of the pack.

I groan at exactly how wild my wolf can be and block out the mental images he is more than happy to supply of his time in our shared body. I take pride in my wolf's ability to hunt. Secretly though, I'm glad the raccoon he chased out of the barn got away and wasn't on the menu. I've come to myself with a mouthful of fur and the taste of blood thick and coppery on my tongue more often than I care to recall.

My wolf, trickster that he is, likes to show that he has just as much control over our shared body as I do. He has left me cold and naked in some very unusual places just to remind me of how much I need him. Like the time I came to myself, naked as the day I was born, on the diner's back stoop. Ultimately, I call the shots and he must yield to my higher level of consciousness. But, in times of extreme stress or imminent danger to the both of us or to our pack, he overrules me. He has the necessary tooth and brutality to get the jobs done that go far beyond a human's capacity for reason.

I can't compartmentalize him and consider him an entirely separate part of who and what I am. We are two halves of the same whole. I couldn't survive without him any more than he could survive without me. And so we've come to terms with each other and this middle ground of flesh and bone we must share.

The sun is warm on my back. I take the trail a little slower than Horse prefers and he lets me know with an impatient snort and toss of his head. Grace took to the horses like a duck to water. She was up in the saddle without much prompting and the sight of her sitting high on Ginger's back was breathtaking. Grace belongs to the woods and the wild. She wears her hair down and it flows between her shoulder blades. She is relaxed and genuinely enjoying herself. Her eyes are wide and focused and her lips curl in a smile as she takes in the natural beauty around her.