Fireworks

“This,” Siobhan said with a touch of unease, “isn’t at all what I expected.”

“What’s wrong?” Kerr asked. He guided her onto the dance floor with a firm hand on her back. “I promised you dinner, correct?”

“Dinner only. Not dancing.”

“So you wind up with a bonus.” His brown eyes teased her. “What’s the matter? Don’t you dance? And you such a fine Irish lass.”

“I’m not riverdancing, if that’s your intent.”

“Me either. You need four legs to do it right. Dante prefers his guests stay human on the dance floor. And upright, more or less.” His smile promised wickedness to come. “He’s got private rooms, if it’s other positions you’re wanting.”

She trod on his instep. “Mind your feet, Mr. Irish Elk.”

He tripped in his effort to keep off her toes. Siobhan snickered.

She mustn’t let the night get to her. Kerr Mulligan had a long record of breaking women’s hearts and wrecking reputations. No elk, this one; that was a lie. He was stallion through and through. And she was a woman—not his species, but that rarely mattered to a stallion. She could hold him on a lead only so long before he reared up and bucked. Then she’d be forced to tip her hand.

But not, Dog willing, until this evening was over.

Siobhan had expected dinner at some cramped, dirty bar, or that tavern run by the Scottie in the kilt. She hadn’t expected Dante’s. The game hen had been cooked to perfection, and the odd liqueur they’d been offered at the end of their meal, courtesy of the management, had topped it off with just the right touch of sweetness. A far cry from the perfunctory holiday dinners she’d attended at the Roebucks’ mansion. A girl could get used to such treatment.

Music started up from hidden speakers, and Kerr’s arm curved around her waist. A girl could get used to this too.

Focus, girl! He’s no date. He’s your target. Now she must hold him in Talbot’s Peak until the hunter arrived. The hunter she’d already notified before Kerr had picked her up for dinner. She matched his smile and allowed him to twirl her about to the energetic beat. Perhaps she’d acted prematurely, summoning the hunter so soon.

No. That was the pooka’s magic, working on her. He was far too skillful, this shifty stallion. Dogs and horses, whiskey and women, these were things the Irish were best at, and Kerr was a master of all. Siobhan added dancing to the list.

The lights dimmed, the tempo slowed. Kerr drew her against him. Playing the part, Siobhan molded her body to his. His hand remained on her upper spine, but she sensed it would sink to its preferred target at the first opportunity. She beat him to the punch with a pinch to his buttock. He started, then grinned. “Not so prim and proper after all, are you, terrier girl?” he murmured in her ear.

“Proper enough for a true Irish lass.”

“That you are.” They swayed together to the beat. “You’re glowing.”

“Is that a polite way of telling me I sweat?”

“No, I mean it.” Their slow dance stuttered to a halt. “You’re really glowing.”

That she was. Siobhan stared at her hand, shimmering pale red-gold in the now-darkened room. This wasn’t her own doing. His? No, he looked as surprised as she. And he was glowing, too.

Nor were they alone. All over the dance floor couples threw off a glimmer like embers in a hearth, in a riot of colors like a rainbow gone berserk. Seductive blues, hot-blooded reds, fiery yellows and delicious greens. Across the room a pair of coyotes whirled in a tornado of violet. No one else seemed the least upset. Indeed, they reveled in their newfound luminosity.

“The drink,” Siobhan realized. “That drink they gave us at the end of the meal. That was the sweet I tasted in it. Magic. This is a spell.”

Kerr’s hand clutched her arms in a show of suspicion. “You can taste magic?”

“Can’t you? After all, you’re—” Dog damn it, he wasn’t supposed to know she knew. “Irish,” she hastily finished.

“As are you,” he retorted, with a passable growl for a horse. He stepped back, putting distance between them. “More than I figured.”

Now what could he mean by—oh. Now that he’d backed off she could see. The magic in the drink had hit the magic in his blood. The outline of his shifter form swirled around his human body, a stallion in plunging blues and blacks and silvers. A tail stretched behind him like ebony smoke. At every move he made, phantom hooves threw off cobalt sparks.

And she? Dear Dog. She lifted her arm to see bright crimson feathering threaded with gold in a fringe along her sleeve. Behind her—yes, there was the tail, a comet of riotous reds. It even wagged, the treacherous thing. Nothing she did could still it.

“Terrier, eh?” Kerr said, not at all friendly.

Siobhan thought fast. “Setters have a bad reputation. Flighty, high-maintenance. Terriers are sturdy. I didn’t want to give a bad impression. And look at you,” she added, switching over to attack. “Elk, indeed.”

He shrugged, setting off a cascade of blue. “Horses have their own bad rep. I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“Terrier or setter, I don’t scare easily.”

“So I see.” Once again his grin emerged, with a silver echo. He caught her hand and reeled her in. “Care to dance?”

They spun across the floor in a twirl of rainbow contrails. Their movements set off Technicolor explosions. Where the others merely twinkled, Kerr and Siobhan flared like novae. It was the magic, of course. Their Irish blood hummed with magic. The spell in the liqueur fed on it, enhanced it. The spectral stallion and setter that wreathed their human bodies intertwined until none could tell where dog ended and horse began. A reflection, she knew, of their heightened emotions.

That couldn’t be. He was only a job. She had already sent for the hunter.

“Well well,” Kerr said on a laugh. “Look at you. We may be needing that private room after all.”

Siobhan’s red setter had grown to titanic proportions. It blazed the scorching scarlet of lust. Kerr’s stallion gleamed an amenable azure, inviting her to mount.

She let go and pushed herself away. The setter refused to diminish. If anything, it burned brighter. So did Siobhan’s cheeks. “I think I’m done with dancing for the night.”

Birddoggin'

At last. After a week of breakfasts at the Bighorn Diner—most excellent breakfasts, Siobhan was willing to own up to—she finally spotted her quarry.

She matched his features to those in the photo cupped in her palm under the table. That was Kerr Mulligan, sure enough.

She was more astonished now than when the Roebucks first showed her the photo. As a rule, pookas in their human form had a horsey look: long faces, long noses, big teeth. Kerr Mulligan was handsome as the Devil himself. He’d cut his sinfully black hair short like the humans did, perhaps to better blend in. Most pookas wore their hair in manes. Kerr had a mane in the picture. She had to admit, this clipped version suited him well. It framed his cheekbones, large eyes and firm chin with its cute little dimple in a way that made her mouth water.

Siobhan took a quick gulp of tea. She wasn’t here to admire the scenery. She was here to hunt.

She did allow herself to admire his easy charm with the locals. He had a smile and a wave and a good word for just about everyone, meaties and grassies alike. A thin smirk touched one side of her mouth. The old Irish charm, that was a pooka’s greatest magic. This horse had it by the tub.

He’d certainly charmed his way into Fawn Roebuck’s knickers, that was for flushing sure. He hadn’t left her pregnant, thank Dog for small favors, but he’d tainted propriety and outraged the family, and the Roebucks would tolerate neither. Not to mention Fawnie’s injured pride. There lay the true heart of the matter, with a dark and deadly beat. No man trifled with Fawn Roebuck’s affections and walked away unscathed, or for long with his apples intact.

Siobhan stared at her target a fraction too long. The fae blood in the pooka’s veins alerted him to hers. He swept a darkened, narrowed stare around the crowded diner, and found her.

Their eyes collided across the width of the room. Siobhan’s psychic senses screamed an alarm.

Kerr Mulligan sipped his coffee, eyeing her over the rim. Abruptly he left his table and started for her booth.

Well, la. She’d expected this. He was Irish, a pooka, and male. Any red-headed lass with a comely face and a healthy bosom was sure to catch his eye, and reel him in like a trout to the lure. She would let him speak first, and from there gauge how best to keep him on the hook.

He slid in opposite her without invitation, still with his coffee mug in hand. “You’re a new face in here,” he remarked.

“And how would you be knowing that?” she said, ladling on the brogue. If he caught even a whiff of her Boston accent he might guess who’d sent her and bolt. “You’ve yet to look at it.”

“New hair,” he corrected himself, hastily yanking his regard upward to the feature in question. “There aren’t many redheads in this town. Two wolves and that’s it.” His nostrils flared like a suspicious stallion’s. “You’re not a wolf?” It was barely a question.

“Terrier,” she lied smoothly. “Are there any rats about? They get my hackles up.”

“Stay away from Rattigan’s, then. The chef’s twice your size and carries a cleaver.”

“I’ll be steering clear. Thanks for the warning.” He watched her own nose work, and seemed to enjoy the sight. “You’re a … ?”

“Deer.” His lie slid off his tongue as easily as hers. As if any deer would have oats on his breath. “More along the elk line. I’m here visiting family. “

“Elk, is it? And with such eyes. I would have taken you for … for …”

Ah, those eyes. Brown with flecks of emerald, like new shoots of grass poking up through the Irish soil. Not that she’d ever seen it in person. Only in dreams. Her psychic power blatted like an air horn.

“And where would you like to take me?” Kerr prompted.

“Elk, then,” Siobhan said briskly. She diverted herself with a sip of tea to break the pooka’s spell. He hadn’t been born in Ireland any more than she had, but like her he carried magic in his blood. In spades. She would have to be wary.

“Not a hart?” she risked. “A red hart?”

“Irish elk.” Those canny brown eyes betrayed nothing. More quicksand than soil, she decided. A lass could swim in quicksand, if she kept her head. “Funny, you don’t act like a terrier. They’re yappy. You’re a quiet one. Still waters?”

“Deep and deadly.” Siobhan flashed her teeth. “But not to a deer—your pardon, an elk. An elk who seems to have no name, I’m thinking.”

“Kerr,” he answered without hesitation. Thought himself safe, then, here in this mountainy wilderness. “Let me guess. You’re … Meghan? Kathleen?” He snapped his fingers. “Bridget.”

She couldn’t stop a giggle. “Siobhan. Shall I spell it?”

“Don’t bother. At least you’re not Welsh. Welsh spelling always makes my head hurt.” He shook his head, a giveaway. He tossed it as if he still had a mane. “Well, terrier Siobhan, I haven’t had my breakfast yet, and it looks as if you haven’t either. Join me?”

“I should be getting back to work.” Back to Hart’s Desire, to notify the Roebucks the game had been found, and to send their hunter.

He leaned across the table toward her, with a wicked smile more suited to a meatie. “Dinner, then?”

“You’re a fast mover, Mr. Irish Elk.”

“That’s deer for you. We move in leaps and bounds.”

And horses moved at a gallop. This one had a devilish glint in his eye, the stallion with the bit in his teeth. Which bit of her would he want to sink his teeth into, she wondered.

Boston and the Roebucks lay a long ways off. She could hold point a little while longer, before she flushed the quarry for the hunter’s gun. “Dinner it is,” she agreed. Just in time, she remembered. “Not Rattigan’s.”

Anuli and Scott (Almost) Make a Porno

Mr. Ed fussed over the tiny studio’s even tinier bedroom set until he had everything just so. Except the lighting. “Charlie! We need more light over here.”

Charlie Boma wrestled an arc light into position. “Now we’ll have to set the microphone by the headboard.”

“As long as we can hear the dialogue. We can add the grunts and groans in post.”

“What grunts and groans?” Charlie’s niece, Anuli, froze in the doorway, her pretty face taking on a look of alarm. “You told me no sex,” she accused her uncle.

“Not for this shoot, no,” Ed assured her. “This is just the screen test. Like a first date. The camera needs to get to know you.”

“Ed needs the practice,” Charlie translated. “He ain’t used to making films with women in ‘em.”

“I’m known for a specific product,” Ed shot back, a bit huffily. “I’ll admit my wallet and I could both benefit if I were to expand my horizons. You’re over 21, right?”

“I’m 23,” Anuli said. “Am I supposed to sign something?”

“Let’s see how the screen test goes. Hey, Scott! You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” A tall, shirtless young man in jeans with an enormous buckle ambled onto the set. His thick, inky mane tumbled out from under an ill-fitting cowboy hat. He spotted Anuli and stopped dead. “I’m filming with a woman?”

“That a problem?”

“No, I’m just a little surprised, is all.” Though not at all upset, if that slow, easy glide of his tongue over his lower lip were any indication. Anuli had also gone on full alert. Ed could almost see her ears prick up, and wondered idly just how long before that off-the-shoulder dress of hers went off the shoulder and onto the floor. Maybe he had been missing something in only filming guy-on-guy movies.

Nah.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Ed said with a curt wave at the bed. “Get to know each other. Talk about the weather or something. Hmm. Y’know what this needs? That old quilt from the barn set. Help me lug it in, will you, Charlie?”

“I look like a stage hand to you?”

“Right now, yes. It’s just us here. Everybody pitches in.” The two older men left the bedroom set, squabbling like an old married couple. If Montana ever gets around to changing the laws, who knows? Ed thought.

It took them a while to find the quilt in Ed’s collection of antique trunks and dig it out. “Hope the foals ain’t getting bored,” Charlie said.

“I doubt if they’re bored. I should have left a camera running.”

They weren’t bored. They were gone. Ed and Charlie returned with the quilt to an empty set. “Told you so,” Charlie said.

# # #

Laughing, hand in hand, Scott and Anuli fled the barn that served as Ed’s film studio and raced for the freedom of the farmyard and the open pasture beyond. Ed’s small herd of goats watched their escape with only a hint of interest. Nothing that went on at Ed’s farm bothered them much. The two didn’t slow until the farmhouse was well out of sight. Anuli paused to catch her breath, still laughing. “Thanks. When Uncle Charlie said he could get me an acting job, he forgot to mention it was gay porn.”

“Ah, Ed don’t make the grungy kind. His films got story arcs and character development and that.”

“So you’ve made quite a few of them, have you?”

Scott turned a delightfully adorable shade of pink. “So far I only been set dressing.” He flexed his pecs for Anuli’s edification. “The guys what star in ‘em are older. Been around a bit. So you’re an actress?”

“Wannabe. I was on my way to California when I stopped in to visit Uncle Charlie.” She looked around at the broad meadow and its tall, sweet-smelling grass. She looked longer at the handsome stud on display before her. “I may stay longer than I planned. I think I like Montana.”

“That’d be great. I mean, glad to have you.” He sputtered and got even pinker. “Long as we’re out here, care to grab a bite of lunch?”

“Sounds wonderful.” With an abandon she never would have shown before a camera, Anuli shed her dress and shifted. The zebra tossed her spiky mane and tugged a mouthful of grass. Delicious! No wonder Uncle Charlie had chosen to settle here.

As for her erstwhile co-star—

She snorted in surprise. Her nose had told her the hunky young man was equine, but not the breed. Now she saw he was a mustang, as long-legged and broad-chested as his human form. His coat was a pinto patchwork of white set off with ebony splotches. Black and white. Her favorite color combo.

The stallion ambled over and nosed her striped hindquarters, taking his time to examine her ropy, tufted tail. She kicked a playful hoof at him. He dodged easily and pranced around her with a smooth glide of a gate. Anuli was liking Montana better and better by the second.

In moments they were running again, lunch and movies forgotten as they stretched their legs, striped and splotched, in a full gallop over the meadow.

# # #

Charlie held out his hand to Ed, palm up. “Pay up, hoss. Tole you that colt was straight.”

“You pay up,” Ed said. “I’m the one bet you they’d hit it off.”

“Hell, that wasn’t no bet. That Scotty’d turn any filly’s head without half trying. Now pay up. I’m gonna need that money for doctor bills. When Anuli finds out we set her up she’ll rip the stripes right off me.” He tossed his head. “Gotta make sure I keep these chiseled good looks.”

“Guess we won’t be filming today,” Ed said. He slanted a sly look at Charlie. “Pity to let the set just sit there, now that we brought in the quilt.”

“You randy stallion.” Charlie chuckled. “First you turn that camera off. I don’t work for free.”

Ed shut off the camera and pointed the lens at the floor. Then he lunged at Charlie. “And—action!”

Calendar Boys

“Dang it, Lamar,” Jamie said, “of all the fool things you ever talked me into, this has gotta be the foolest.”

“Chico, I haven’t even scratched the surface of all the foolish things I want to talk you into. This, however, isn’t one of them. This is for a good cause. Tell him, Bo.”

“You heard the man,” Bo Ewing said. Like Jamie, he wore a simple terrycloth robe, though his was several sizes larger than Jamie’s. Like Jamie, he was naked beneath it. “Dante’s pin-up calendar makes a ton of money for local charities every year. You want to tell the kids at the hospital they won’t be getting a new dialysis machine because you got cold – ” He eyed Jamie’s groinal region and finished with a chuckle, “Feet?”

“I get the charity bit,” Jamie snapped. “I don’t get nudie shots of men. The Talbot’s Peak gay community ain’t that big. Oughtn’t you make one of nekkid women or something?”

“We’ve got one of those, too.” Dante himself entered just in time to catch, and answer, Jamie’s question. A long-legged, barrel-chested stranger in a Stetson followed him in. “The male calendar outsells it three to one, every single year.” He winked at Bo and the other man. “There’s a lot of randy shes in Talbot’s Peak.”

Lamar elbowed Jamie. “Told you.”

“And I told you,” Dante said to Lamar, “you can’t be in the women’s calendar. We’ve still got some uptight folks who’d burn my bar if they realized they were looking at a man.”

“Chillax, jefe. I’m moral support for the shy boy here. Also prop. One way or another, I’m getting into the calendar.”

“Not if you keep holding up production,” Mr. Ed, the photographer, said with an annoyed sniff. He was a slender, horse-faced man with a long blond ponytail. “You ready, son?”

“As he’ll ever be,” Lamar said, and shifted into his boa form.

“Dang foolishness,” Jamie muttered. “I ought’a be behind the camera, not in front of it.”

“You’re the one agreed to it,” Bo said with a grin and no sympathy. “By the way, where’s Porker? Don’t tell me he chickened out.”

“I’m afraid so,” Dante said. “Fortunately Dash here agreed to stand in. Exit biker, enter cowboy. I don’t think the ladies will mind.”

“Are you going to pose or not?” Ed said to Jamie.

“I’m gettin’ there,” Jamie said. Like diving into a pond, he told himself. You jump in all at once, it ain’t so bad. He loosened the robe and let it fall before stepping in front of the camera. Lamar slithered up his leg and wrapped around his torso, with one thick coil strategically draped across Jamie’s sinful bits. His forked tongue licked the curve of Jamie’s ear.
“Quit it,” Jamie mumbled. “How y’all want me?”

“Relax,” Ed instructed. “There’s good stiff and bad stiff. You’re giving me bad stiff.” He handed Jamie an apple. “Have fun with it.”

Sure, have a blast showing himself off like a side of beef with Lamar hanging all over him. It’s for the kids, he kept telling himself, and struck what he hoped was a provocative pose.

“Atta boy, Jamie,” Bo called encouragement. “You’re a natural. Didn’t we do this shot last year?”

“Gypsy as Eve? Yes, I remember. She’s pairing with Sergei this year.”

“I’m guessing he’ll be tiger. I can’t imagine him naked. Oh wait, yes I can. Terrific, now I can’t get that picture out of my head. Somebody describe their last date or something.”

“I was with a zebra last night,” Ed announced. “They bite, and in the most interesting places. Happy? Good. Now be quiet. I’m trying to create magic here.”

He took several shots of “Adam and the Serpent” before he pronounced himself satisfied. Jamie snatched up his robe and yanked it on with Lamar still wrapped around him. The snake’s head poked out of the robe’s V neckline. Jamie idly rubbed it with a finger.

“Who wants to go next?” Ed said. “Come on, boys. Time is money.”

“I’ll go,” Dash offered. “I got some things to pick up in town, then I need to get back to work.” He stripped off his shirt, revealing a tanned chest just made for porn shoots. He stepped in front of the camera.

“Hey!” Jamie said. “How come he gets to keep his pants on?”

“’Cause I got a jealous lady at home,” Dash replied easily. He repositioned his Stetson at a rakish angle. “Wish I had a horse to pose with. Make this a helluva shot.”

“That can be arranged,” Ed said. He was practically drooling. “You. ‘Adam.’ Did you say you’re a photographer?”

Jamie stepped up to the camera and pronounced himself familiar with the type. Ed shed his clothes in a blink and shifted into a shiny-coated palomino, far handsomer than his human form. Jamie tossed Dash the apple and started shooting, with Dante, Bo and a once-again human Lamar looking over his shoulder. Jamie ignored them all, totally focused on his creative vision.

“Oohh, nice,” Ed said upon regaining human shape. “Look at that lighting! Son, you’re a natural. Ever done these types of shots before?”

“Uhhhh … ”

“Just with me,” Lamar spoke up. “I got one on me. Wanna see?”

“I’d rather see your portfolio.” Ed recovered his slacks from the chair where he’d tossed them and fished a business card out of his pocket. “If you’d like a job, or just freelance work, I can use a talented helper. Anyone can snap a photo. You’ve got an artist’s eye.”

Jamie glanced around uneasily at the half-naked and naked men in the studio, which now included Ed. “I dunno. You do a lot of this?”

“As much as I can get,” Ed said with a horsy grin. “Sadly, most of it’s simple formal portraits. Luckily for my tastes, there are those who like to do erotic shots for their mates. Men and women. Best of both worlds.”

“He’ll do it,” Lamar said, clapping Jamie on the shoulder. “You can shoot the covers for my novels.”

“You write gay porn.”

“Exactamento.”

“Give me a call,” Ed said. “We’ll talk. Now, who’s up next?”

“Guess that’s me.” Bo let his robe drop and stood in all his bighorn glory. He tossed a football from hand to hand. “How do you want me to hold it?”