“Can I feel your fur?” he asked.
“It’s not fur; it’s hair.”
“Uh-huh. Can I feel it?”
Bad enough she’d shocked herself with this new haircut, but every Wolf, Crow, Hawk, Owl, and Sanguinati she’d seen yesterday had stared at her. Jester Coyotegard had trotted over from the Pony Barn to get a look—and then gleefully raced back to report to the girls at the lake. Even the ponies, who were the Courtyard’s mail carriers and the Elementals’ steeds, had been more interested in lipping what was left of her hair than in eating the carrot chunks she had for their treat.
“Why?” she said. “It’s the same as it was before.”
“Uh-uuuh.”
Meg huffed out a breath. “Fine. You can feel it.”
“It’s soft and thick,” Sam said, running his hand over her hair. “Feels like Wolf.”
The soft, and deliberate, scuff of a shoe on the ground just behind her.
Meg snapped upright and whirled around.
“Simon.” She tried—and failed—to recall a training image that matched the look on his face. Baffled annoyance with a touch of hurt feelings?
“Wait for us inside, pup,” he said. “And don’t shift in front of the little human.”
Big gusty sigh. Then, having made his point about being put upon by entertaining a human, Sam opened the door and slipped inside A Little Bite.
“I should . . .” Meg pointed at the door.
“You growl at me because I want to feel your hair, but you don’t even grumble at him?”
Definitely some hurt feelings.
“He’s a puppy!” she protested.
“So?”
“Well . . . but . . .”
“I don’t growl at you when you want to pet my fur,” Simon said.
“But . . . that’s different!”
“How?”
Meg opened her mouth to explain exactly how it was different—and couldn’t think of anything to say. It was different, wasn’t it? He never objected when she ran her fingers through his fur. He was a Wolf. And fluffy. Less fluffy now that he’d shed his winter coat, but still!
Had she been intruding on what a magazine article called personal space without realizing it? He’d never objected, but he’d never actually given her permission to pet him.
She looked at him patiently waiting for an explanation and realized he didn’t see a difference between his tactile curiosity and hers. And right now she couldn’t figure out the difference either.
“Fine,” she muttered.
Not like Sam’s touch. Simon’s larger hand slowly moved over her head, those strong fingers finding the spot behind her ear where the muscles were tight. Pressing. Circling. Coaxing the muscles to yield and relax.
She swayed. Didn’t even realize he’d moved until her forehead rested against his chest.
“Oh,” she breathed. “No wonder you just lie there when we’re watching a movie.”
His breath ruffled her hair when he said laughingly, “Well, yeah.”
Too soon Simon lowered his hand and stepped back. “Sam’s getting impatient—and curious now that he’s gotten a look at the Lizzy. You should go in. The Lizzy wouldn’t tell Nathan what happened to her mother, but she might tell you.”