Warm Nights in Magnolia Bay by Babette Jongh (best fantasy books to read TXT) 📕

couldn’t talk to Abby and pay attention to his nose at the same time, so he flopped down exactly where he was: in a strange, man-made field with alternating rows of raw dirt and small bushy plants. To be sure he was safe, he took stock of the area by sniffing the air.

He smelled wild rabbits close by—different than the ones at the farm—and the oily, rubbery odor left in the dirt by farm equipment. He could still get a whiff of the female dog he had followed and coupled with. After he fulfilled her request, she had no further use for him and trotted away, unconcerned. He had hoped she would come back with him and help him to start a pack so he’d have a place to belong. But she made it clear that she already had a home, and he wasn’t invited to share it.

Georgia had invited him to live at the farm, but Abby had chased him away. He wished all the dogs who didn’t have homes could somehow find their way to the same place so they could be together. There would be safety and security if they all banded together.

He could tell that on some level, he was telegraphing his thoughts to Abby in the same way people often did without being aware of it. But he knew what he was doing, and so did Abby. He calmed his thoughts to make room for hers.

“I’m sorry,” he heard Abby say in his head. “I was afraid for the chicken you caught, and I didn’t understand that you were hungry. If you will come to the farm, I won’t chase you away, and you’ll have plenty of food to eat.”

Wolf could tell that someone else—another human—was listening in on the conversation. It felt like she was helping Wolf and Abby to hear each other better. He tried to show them how his fear and reluctance to trust held him back. He tried to show them that he needed to feel useful and have a job to do.

Then, the connection broke. Abby dropped out of the conversation. The other person tried to keep Wolf engaged, but he had to get back to the forest. It was unsafe to sleep in an unfamiliar place, and his body craved rest now.

But more than that, he had a bad feeling that he had somehow let Georgia down when he followed the other dog’s tantalizing scent. He would have to explain to her that he couldn’t help losing himself in these overwhelming urges that took over his rational brain and compelled him to do whatever it took to satisfy the biological imperative.

Then he thought of Georgia’s sweet face, her soft brown eyes, her healing presence; and he realized that he wouldn’t have to explain anything. She knew him, she understood him, and she accepted him, just as he was. That knowledge made him more determined than ever to truly deserve everything she gave him freely without demanding anything in return. Even though it scared him more than any terror he had faced before, he vowed to try to fit into Georgia’s life. Maybe he could do it without having to get too close to the humans.

He knew without asking that she wouldn’t leave her people to go with him. But if he could find a close-by place to dig a den for them to share, he might be able to convince her that he could be her home, too.

Wolf made it back to the forest when the sky at the horizon turned orange and pink. The hum of a small motorbike and the soft thunk of a rolled-up paper hitting the ground lured him out of the forest before he had the chance to lie down and rest. He picked up the paper—this one still sharp with the smell and taste of fresh ink—and carried it down the farmhouse road, then dropped it by the see-through door. Inside the house, the lights were off. He pressed his nose to the cool, damp glass. A small, dark kitten curled up on a soft pillow that was raised off the ground on polished blocks of wood.

He remembered pillows.

He missed pillows.

Chapter 13

Over the next week, Quinn’s life settled into a regular rhythm. Not an easy rhythm, just a regular rhythm. He woke early and walked to the farm, where he brought in the roll of advertising flyers that miraculously appeared at the back door every morning. (Abby blamed the elusive wolf dog; Quinn figured it was Georgia.)

Then he did the morning chores. Abby had stopped following him around outside, which made things go faster. When he finished feeding the animals and cleaning stalls and enclosures, he went to the farmhouse where Abby always had a hearty—and sometimes elaborate—breakfast ready for him. Fresh eggs he had gathered the day before, prepared a dozen different ways. Cheese grits or hash browns or a vegetable-and-potato concoction blended with scrambled eggs and coated with melted cheese. Biscuits and honey, or pancakes and syrup. Fresh berries or fruit—most of it from Reva’s garden; he had harvested the berries just this morning.

Today, he tucked into a plate piled high with fresh crepes, blackberries, and whipped cream drizzled with honey, along with three strips of bacon on the side. Also, fresh-ground coffee blended with a spoonful of coconut oil, half-and-half, and butter—yes, butter! Sounded strange, but tasted magnificent, like an ultra-rich cappuccino. And, everything tasted all that much better because he had worked up an appetite.

Abby put a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice by his plate. Feeling appreciated in the best way, he reached out and snagged the waistband of her shorts. “Thank you,” he said with his mouth full. When she tried to slip away, he wrapped a finger around the stretchy elastic and pulled her back. Swallowing, he tilted his face up to hers, inviting a kiss. God, he really wanted a kiss; he could feel it already—her warm, full lips smashed against his.

But she must not