Sleepy Fox Hollow cowboy

Angry man was right. Anselm's hard stare measured her bedraggled coat.

So this was a peace offering. A barb sat at the tip of his tongue, poised to strike until Etienne spoke.

Anselm turned from Fiona to address his comrade, that spate of invective held somewhere in the roof of his mouth ready to be aimed Etienne's way instead -- but it was then he saw the somberness of Etienne's round eyes, that hidden pleading gaze that brought to mind a thousand memories too gentle to speak;

soft,

milk teeth,

clover --

His fur bristled. What was it about Etienne that moved him so? For any other wolf Anselm would have spat upon the offering and then threw it in their face.

For Etienne, things were different. Fine! His tone and accent peaked in exasperation. But I am not fuckin' showing her the cache like the last one. She is not a baby. Now Anselm's gaze dragged across Fiona, hard and resentful for the tenderness she'd awoken in Etienne that he wanted only for himself. Do not make me regret it.

Anselm was not a man of last words. He turned in a flare of anger, leaving the offering in the dirt.