Page 6 of Hoofin’ It

“Shane!”

“That said, I’m pretty sure fur-lined bikinis went out of style years ago.”

My mother whimpered and clapped her hands over her mouth, her shoulders shaking as she struggled to regain her composure. It wouldn’t work, not this time. No matter what my father said, I’d break one or both of them, and I’d enjoy every minute of it.

If I was digging my own grave, at least I’d make my death memorable.

At the rate my father huffed and puffed, he’d blow the house down or rupture something. “Shane Abraham Gibson, give me one reason why I shouldn’t tear you limb from limb and drape your dripping corpse from my porch rail.”

“Secretly, you’re proud your son dropped you in two hits and kept you down long enough to gift his wonderful mother with sufficient fur to keep her busy for a week. I just gave you a week of peace and quiet. I wasn’t even armed, and I didn’t scrape my knuckles, either. You should be thanking me.”

Wailing, my mother writhed on the floor, kicking her feet. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve worried she was having a seizure. “Fur-lined bikini,” she gasped.

Maybe the fur-lined bikini had been a good move after all. If my mom kept laughing so hard, she’d pass out, and I’d be able to eat dinner without interruption, as my father would spend the rest of the evening shifting between his three forms to grow his fur back.

“Patsy,” Dad growled.

“Fur-lined bikini,” she countered, as though her words somehow justified her inability to contain her laughter. In some ways, it did.

Howling, my father scooped my mother off the floor with one arm and bounced out of the kitchen. She squealed. Between giggles I could hear across the house, she called, “I’ll put the leftovers in the fridge before bed, Shane.”

I really didn’t want to know what my parents were doing, but if I stayed in the house, I’d find out. A quick check of the stove determined Mom had made beef stew. After careful consideration, I grabbed a few apples from the fruit basket and headed out to the barn.

Hopefully, Sally wouldn’t mind some company, because the paper thin walls of the old farmhouse had been half the reason I’d fled to Chicago in the first place. There were simply some things a man didn’t want to hear, and male werewolves didn’t lose their virility with age.

Chapter Three

Sally accepted my presence in her stall readily enough, although I suspected my ability to drive away a seven foot tall predator was involved. Explaining to an alpaca my father wouldn’t eat her was useless, but I tried anyway.

It didn’t take long to figure out she viewed me as a provider of food and a living pillow for her amusement. Since serving an alpaca as a bed beat keeping my parents’ company for the evening, I dealt with it. In reality, I didn’t mind sharing a stall with an animal. When I’d been a kid, we’d all taken turns when Hopper was close to dropping a foal. Skunk’s days as a stallion were long over, but he didn’t seem to mind life as a gelding.

Instead of coddling a pregnant mare, I had a lap full of alpaca, and she seemed to enjoy attention almost as much as Dad when he was a wolf, which I found amusing. It didn’t take long for Sally to settle down, and it didn’t take long for the wear and tear of driving to catch up with me.

My mother’s chuckles and the whinnying of two hungry horses woke me. During the night, Sally had decided to use my lap as a pillow and curled up beside me. I was grateful she hadn’t decided to sleep on top of me again.

“Did you need us to show you where your room is, Shane? You could have slept in the house.”

“I thought I’d give you two some privacy.”

“Don’t be such a baby. I had your father fix the walls last winter. I got tired of freezing my ass off, so he insulated them properly. They’re not quite soundproof but close enough.”

Miracles really could happen. “Did Dad’s fur grow back?”

“Somewhat. He’s sulking.”

I laughed. “Serves him right for scaring my alpaca.”

“Sally.”

“You do realize she’s my alpaca, right?”

“For now. And you’re naming her Sally.”

Scratching Sally behind her ears woke her, and she lifted her head, blinked, and snorted, regarding my mother with an expression of utter disapproval. “I don’t think Sally agrees. Anyway, I might keep her.”

“In your apartment in Chicago.”

Without decent pay and with my experience and education dedicated to serving in a police force, I’d have a hard time surviving in Chicago, with or without a furry roommate. Moving was on my list of things to do.