Werewolves Don't Wear Cowboy Boots

Chapter 14: Definitely saving that holy water recipe to Pinterest for later

James had barely ended the call before Bridget was up and walking toward the door.

"Um ... Bridget?" He followed, not particularly wanting to know what her friends would do to him if he couldn't keep her out of trouble. "Mr. O'Neill said he was on his way."

She turned back to him, eyes vivid with anger but also a little red rimmed. "He's too late. Do you have a shovel? We need to dig up that vampire."

"Yeah, I don't .... I don't know that that's a good idea." He nearly faltered at the way her eyes narrowed, but made up his mind to be firm. Or honest, at least. "Anyway, I don't think I could find the place again if I wanted to. The whole point was to put him somewhere he wouldn't be found. And your friend said he would be here today. There's got to be a better use for our time than digging up graves. What's that going to accomplish?"

She snorted indignantly when he mentioned her "friend," but despite her agitation, she actually seemed to be considering what he'd said. After a moment's thought, she nodded tersely and then turned and walked out of the house.

James watched her with a bemused expression as she moved toward an old barn on the edge of the property. What she planned to do in there he couldn't imagine, but he followed, passing through the open door into the dark, dusty interior, lit only by a shop light hanging from one of the rafters. It smelled of dirt and hay inside, and Bridget was rummaging through a pile of tools. Before he could ask her what, exactly, she was doing, she held up an old sickle and said, "Do you think this would work?"

James looked at the rotting wooden handle and the blade that was more rust than metal and gave a dubious shake of his head. "Depends. Were you planning on using it as a weapon or just hoping you could give a vampire tetanus?"

The handle fell off the sickle when she tossed it down a little too roughly, and she shot him a look of warning should he have any thoughts of making a joke about her choice of weapon. He shrugged it off, but when she started eyeing some old posts – no doubt contemplating making stakes – he finally said, "Maybe you should wait for-?"

"I am waiting!" She looked as if she might stamp her foot for emphasis, but instead, she walked over to the posts and started to pick one up, her voice strained as she said, "For as long as it takes to make some weapons."

"Do you know how long it will take to cut that down? And do you even have tools?" Her only response was a cutting glance, so he sighed and said in an exasperated voice, "At least let me take that." He tried to take a hold on the post, but she refused to let go, and after a brief tug of war, they both dropped the thing and she cursed and growled about a splinter the size of a tree trunk wedged under her nail.

"Look, maybe you should just-"

"If you tell me to calm down, I will murder you." She looked capable of it, just then. Her hair was all tangled and wild, her eyes were a little on the unhinged side, and she was breathing like she'd just run a marathon.

"I wasn't going to tell you to calm down." She just looked at him, and he cleared his throat, then took a breath and spoke in a slow, reasonable voice. "OK, maybe I was, and I shouldn't have. But will you maybe reconsider the post thing? If you want stakes, I might have something better at my place. Can we just go inside, get that splinter out of your finger, and maybe we could talk about this a little? Because I'm honestly a little out of my depth here, and I'd like to help you figure it out, but first I need to understand some things."

Bridget inspected the post with the look of someone who was rethinking their decisions but too proud to admit it, then gave a slight nod. She turned to go back to the house, and he let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.