Page 49 of Runaway Hucow

Tess’s heart was beating with a much faster rhythm as she approached the edge of the forest that surrounded the secluded valley. It was a little past noon, and the sun was high and bright, but there were clouds too, big balls of cotton floating across the sky, and they cast drifting patches of shade that provided some relief from the heat of the sun.

Swsssh THUNK!

There was even more shade at the edge of the forest, where Roscoe was working. Several big hardwoods had been felled and sawed into shorter pieces, and the bisonman was setting the pieces on a stump and splitting them with an enormous ax, first into halves, then quarters, then halves of quarters. He’d already gotten a couple cords loaded into the back of a wagon, and it looked like he would have a couple more ready before the day was through.

His back was toward Tess, which allowed her to observe him as she approached. As much as she hated the eldest bisonman—and she did hate him—she couldn’t help but marvel at the way the powerful muscles of his back bunched and flexed every time he swung the huge ax. As she got closer, her eyes accidentally dipped lower, to the thick mounds of his buttocks, and she felt an uncomfortable wetness blossoming between her legs. She quickly lifted her gaze.

Swsssh THUNK!

I should turn back, Tess thought. He hasn’t seen me yet. He doesn’t know I’m here. It was foolish of me to even consider talking to him, the monster. I should just turn around and go back to the barn.

But she was mesmerized by his powerful muscles and the smooth, steady rhythm of his giant ax. Every time he swung it, the wood split cleanly beneath the gleaming steel blade. Then he would set up another piece and do it again.

Swsssh THUNK!

Tess couldn’t see his face, but she knew he was scowling. His whole body seemed to be one giant scowl. His shoulders, his back, even that hard, shapely backside. Every part of him seemed to embody a deep-seated antagonism toward the world, toward existence himself. He was taking it out on the wood, but Tess got the impression the bisonman could chop and split an entire forest and still not be shed of all his anger and frustration.

What had made him like that, she wondered. Nobody was born grumpy, not even a minotaur. It didn’t really matter, of course. The end result was the same. He was still an asshole, and she still hated him.

But she was curious.

Then again, curiosity could kill hucows as well as cats. She really should turn back, before Roscoe realized she was near and decided to use that ax to split something other than wood.

Tess stopped walking and started to turn around.

Just then, a scream erupted from the tree line. A horrible, piercing sound as sharp as any ax blade. Tess whirled to face the sound just in time to see the eagle swooping toward her, his pinions gleaming like burnt gold as they caught a stray beam of sunshine. Instinctively, Tess dropped into a crouch and brought her arms up to shield her head from the raptor’s deadly talons.

“Chase!” a voice bellowed.

Tess heard a sound like a whisper as the eagle glided past her, then turned and flew back to where Roscoe was standing. It flared to a stop and perched itself atop the piece of wood the bisonman had just placed onto the chopping stump.

Tess had been right about the minotaur’s face. He was scowling.

“Stop cowering,” he called to her. “It’s pathetic.”

Tess felt her fear morphing into anger. It was amazing how consistently Roscoe had that effect on her. She stood up and glared at the bisonman defiantly. “Your eagle tried to attack me.”

“His name’s Chase. And he wasn’t trying to attack you. He was just checking you out. Come closer so I don’t have to yell.”

Tess took a few apprehensive steps forward, her eyes on the eagle. “He won’t hurt me?”

“Not unless I tell him to.”

“Very reassuring.”

Roscoe grunted. That seemed to be his favorite all-purpose form of communication. He gave Chase a nod, and the eagle lifted off the log and flapped up onto a branch overhead. Roscoe hefted his ax and swung it. The big log probably would have taken a strong man a dozen blows to split, but Roscoe did it in one.

Swsssh THUNK!

“What are you doing out here? I thought you were supposed to be working Peyton’s telegraph machine.”

“I’m taking a break,” Tess answered testily. “Is that alright? Or do you want to chain me to the desk?” She bit her tongue. She didn’t need to give Roscoe any ideas.

The comment earned her another grunt. Roscoe looked her up and down. “Is that the same dress you were wearing this morning?”

Tess’s heart fluttered with panic. It was not the same dress. Peyton had ripped the other one, along with her drawers. He was currently mending those garments in his workshop.

“I had to change,” Tess said hastily. “The other dress was too small for me.”